


A Damsel in Distrust

by Invida



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invida/pseuds/Invida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica Mars meets Sherlock Holmes. How well did you think it would go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline/spoilers** : entire series of _Veronica Mars_ , up to _A Scandal in Belgravia_ of _Sherlock_  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Thanks to Audrey Roget for the beta, encouragement, and a willing ear. Thanks to Maybe Amanda for the encouragement and giving me the idea for an actual plot. Thanks to DC for the challenge.

“I want her gone, John.” Sherlock’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair with the frequency of a hummingbird’s wing.  
  
“If we all got what we wanted, then I’d be living in a tidy flat with far fewer body parts in the fridge,” John said, turning another page of the newspaper. "You wanted a case. She brought us a case.”  
  
“ _Lestrade_  brought us the case. She just –" Sherlock’s hand circled as if he could pluck the right word from the air. "Interfered.”  
  
“The case is about her. She’s allowed to take an interest in what happens to her. You’re just jealous that she’s probably going to solve it before you.”  
  
“What she is doing is not  _solving_.”  
  
“And what would you call what she’s doing?”  
  
Sherlock waved his hands back and forth to emphasize his point. “She’s blundering about the city, crashing headlong into things until she thinks she’s on to something and then she latches on like a proverbial pit bull. You’d have to shoot her to get rid of her." Sherlock paused. "Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Where’s your gun?”  
  
John ignored him. “And this is different from what you do – how exactly?”  
  
“I do  _not_  blunder.”  
  
“Right. Well, she’s an actual  _licensed_  private investigator, unlike some people I could name. I think you could say that she knows what she’s doing.”  
  
“Yes, licensed. In the United States. Do you know what it takes to become a licensed private investigator there? You take an examination. And multiple choice, no less. That’s the only qualification. Even a barkeep needs more certification.”  
  
John rolled his eyes. “She’s getting results, Sherlock. Isn’t that what matters in the end?”  
  
“Is that all you think we do? Just get a result?”  
  
“No. No. Of course not. You get to show everyone how clever you are and get to be a right bastard while doing it. Not every detective has the same finesse as you, Sherlock. But she is figuring this out and you have to give her some credit.”  
  
Sherlock eyed him for a moment, then gave him a look of realization. “Oh, I see.” Sherlock clapped his hands together and touched his fingers to his lips, letting his gaze settle on John.  
  
“See what?” John asked, knowing that he was not going to like Sherlock’s answer one bit.  
  
“Your motivation for defending her.” Sherlock said, pressing his fingertips under his chin as he observed John.  
  
John put the newspaper down. He told himself to be calm, to ignore Sherlock. Don't say anything and then you won't give anything away. Not that there was anything to give away. But it wouldn't matter to Sherlock. And yet, as much as he told himself not to, he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth as he started to defend the girl some more.  
  
“Motivation? She's been accused of a crime she didn't commit and she needs help. You do believe her, don't you?"  
  
"Clearly. But I think there's more to it than that."  
  
"I’m simply pointing out that she’s a clever girl in her own way. She’s managed to hold her own against the likes of you.”  
  
“And nearly got herself and you killed in the process.”  
  
John laughed, shaking his head. “So you’ve got the exclusive on being the only private detective who can nearly get me killed?”  
  
Sherlock eyes narrowed. "You know she has a boyfriend?”  
  
John blinked at him incredulously. “And you’re mentioning this - why?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. “Why do you think? I haven’t changed the subject. Your motivation."  
  
“For god’s sake, Sherlock, I am not –“ John stopped when he took in Sherlock’s bemused expression. Christ. Why am I even bothering? It was exactly the reaction Sherlock wanted.  
  
John picked up his breakfast plate and took it to the kitchen, muttering on his way past Sherlock. “And not that it is at all relevant, but she says she doesn’t. “  
  
Before John even turned around from the sink, Sherlock had his laptop on the kitchen table with several browser windows open.  
  
Sherlock pointed at the screen triumphantly. He proceeded to list off the various facts in rapid fire succession. "Photos of her with a dashing, not to mention  _famous_  -- or infamous as the story goes --young man in the American tabloids. Here they are at a courthouse together after his murder trial. Adorable! And most telling of all, her Facebook page. Relationship status: 'It's complicated'."  
  
John clicked through all the windows. "Articles from at least a year ago and all the rest is circumstantial evidence at best." John remarked, realizing he was falling right into Sherlock's baited trap. "Regardless, Sherlock, does that mean we shouldn't help her?"  
  
Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration. "It means she's manipulating you. She knows you find her attractive and she knows you can't resist a damsel in distress. She's young enough to be your daughter, by the way."  
  
"Again, not that it matters, but she's 20. She's an adult." How the hell did Sherlock keep getting him back into this stupid line of questioning? "Look, you obviously don't like her. So you don't have to help her. You can stay here in the flat and wait for another case. But I'm going to do what I can for her."  
  
"You're a fool. And you're going to prove it if you keep following her about."  
  
"Yeah. The same was said to me about you," John said over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.  
  
\----------  
  
Veronica Mars sat at the small Formica table that just fit the corner of the cramped kitchen. It wasn't meant for company.  
  
She had been listening to the loud argument going on above her. It ended abruptly when a door slammed and a frenzied tune on a violin started up.  
  
A china cup on a mismatched saucer appeared in front of her, surprising her.  
  
"There you go, dear. A nice cuppa will right everything. You'll see," Mrs. Hudson said, as she placed another plate down in front of Veronica, this one filled with an assortment of cookies.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Veronica said stiffly. She wasn't used to being fussed over, especially not by someone so maternal. It had been years since her own mother had tried to take care of her and Veronica wasn't sure how to react any more except to express her gratitude repeatedly. "And thank you again for letting me stay with you. I want you to know -- "  
  
Mrs. Hudson waved her off. "No need to thank me. A nice girl like yourself shouldn't be wandering about the city all on your own. And I appreciate the company. It's fun to have another girl in the house for a change."  
  
"John is lucky to have such a kind landlady."  
  
"Well, I'm lucky to have a tenant who's a doctor. Especially at my age, what with my hip and all. So I don't mind doing him a turn when he needs it." Mrs. Hudson sat down across from Veronica with her own mismatched cup.  
  
"John's a very generous man. I mean, he just met me and he's already trying to get me out of this mess—" Veronica stole a glance at Mrs. Hudson. She wasn't sure how much John had told her.  
  
"Not to worry, Veronica. You won't believe the things I've seen here thanks to those two upstairs! The riff raff they drag in with their detective business. Not that you're riff raff. Far from it, in fact. So whatever it is that happened to you, I've heard it all! But you don't have to say anything. John's vouched for you and that's good enough for me."  
  
Well, that was sort of a relief. But something told Veronica that Mrs. Hudson probably hadn't heard anything as crazy as Veronica's life over the last few years, let alone the events that led her to Mrs. Hudson's doorstep.  
  
"Still, he seems to have to put up with a lot." Veronica raised her eyebrow to emphasize her point.  
  
"Oh, Sherlock? He's all bluster. Don't let him get to you."  
  
Veronica laughed. "Never." She'd dealt with worse bullies with a bigger bite.  
  
They both sipped at the milky tea. Veronica pointed to the ceiling. "So do they know that you can hear every word they say from down here?"  
  
Mrs. Hudson gave her a wink. "Now where would the fun be in that?"  
  
\---------  
  
Veronica lay on the twin bed that nearly touched all the walls in the guest bedroom in Mrs. Hudson's apartment. The rest of the room was taken up with a sewing machine and swaths of fabric. She was almost certain that it had once been a closet considering how narrow it was. Still it was better than the streets or a jail cell. She pondered her plight as she slipped her earphones on and cranked up the tunes on her mp3 player.  
  
Keith Mars considered Greg Lestrade a brother in arms. They were both cops at heart. They upheld the law. There was a camaraderie amongst law enforcers no matter where they were from.  
  
They'd met while Keith was still sheriff and when one of London's most wanted turned up in Neptune's lock up and DI Lestrade came to retrieve him in person. It had been easy to strike up a friendship with Lestrade. Mostly it was trading stories or case notes back and forth, or asking for advice, one cop to another. It continued even after Keith's downfall. Greg had offered as much support as someone from Scotland Yard could to a small town sheriff turned private eye. Hell, he'd even bought a copy of Keith's book.  
  
So when Veronica had been picked up on suspicion of robbery in London, Keith of course, first gave her a lecture of 'I told you sos' and 'why did you have to go there in the first places'. Then Keith called Lestrade to see what could be done. Lestrade firmly believed Veronica. Someone raised by Keith Mars could be nothing but a good kid as far as he was concerned. But burglary wasn't Lestrade's division. He could pull some strings to get her released, but beyond that he couldn't make the investigation go away. Not without proof. And Veronica was being accused by the victim outright so she was the number one suspect.  
  
Regardless, Greg knew someone who could help. That is, if he could be persuaded.  
  
Sherlock Holmes strode into Lestrade's office like he owned the place. That already put Veronica on edge. Entitlement always did.  
  
Greg introduced Holmes as he took off his coat. Why he was wearing a coat at all in the summer heat was probably part of the mystery this jackass liked to exude, Veronica surmised.  
  
Another shorter man popped out from behind Holmes and stuck his hand out, "Hi. John Watson." Veronica shook it heartily, feeling sorry for him. Everyone acted like he was an afterthought, even John himself.  
  
Holmes stepped forward and looked Veronica up and down. Then he barked at her to tell her story quickly and concisely.  
  
Veronica glared at him. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Fine," he said impatiently, circling around her. "You don't want to talk, I'll tell you."  
  
"Christ," muttered both Lestrade and Watson while rolling their eyes. Lestrade added, "Don't take anything he says personally, Veronica. This is just the way he is."  
  
Sherlock ignored him and began, his eyes still roaming over her as he circled her. "You're on your summer break from uni – Sorry,  _college_ , I believe they call it in America. You've been staying at hostels. You can't afford anything better. And while others could help you afford it, you're too proud to take them up on their offer. You're not here to backpack or any of the other useless things the youth of today think they have to do before they get too old. You've got a reason. How am I doing so far?"  
  
Veronica blinked at him in bewilderment. What the hell was this guy? A sideshow act?  
  
"Sherlock –" Watson said with a tone of admonishment.  
  
"What?" Sherlock turned around and asked John with exasperation, "Have I said anything in the slightest way offensive?"  
  
John merely shrugged. They'd done this routine before, thought Veronica. She wondered if it was the British version of good cop, bad cop.  
  
John was about to say something more, but it was Veronica who said, "Not yet."  
  
Sherlock turned back to her, surprise registering in those cold, nearly colourless eyes. Good, Veronica thought. At least he didn't think she was weak.  
  
He seemed to take that as encouragement. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her further. He began to fire off points again. "You're a photographer. A good one. But you're not a tourist. You will probably take touristy photos later when you think you'll have more time. Most likely to show your parents – father, that is. Mother's out of the picture."  
  
A sharp intake of breath from Veronica caused Sherlock to stop briefly. "Not dead. She left you, and while you're bitter, it doesn't stop you from missing her."  
  
"Did you want some kind of warning when you're venturing into offensive territory?" Veronica asked sweetly but through gritted teeth.  
  
"No, no," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave. "That's fine. While it probably fuelled the reason you are here, it's not at the heart of it."  
  
"And what's at the heart of it?" Veronica asked, curious as to how much he'd really figured out.  
  
"I haven't the foggiest," Sherlock admitted as he flopped down into one of the guest chairs in front of Lestrade's desk. "That's why you actually do have to talk at some point."  
  
"I hope you don't mind, but can I ask you –" John asked, stepping forward again. "Was he right?"  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Really, John. We do not need to continue to keep score –"  
  
"Yeah," Veronica interrupted and then wrinkled her nose. "But then everything he said was kinda obvious, wasn't it?"  
  
"Not…" John looked at her in surprise, then at Lestrade who looked just as bewildered. "Not to me."  
  
More satisfyingly, Sherlock blinked at her. That made her smile.  
  
"Easy-peasy, guv’nah!” Veronica said with a click of her tongue. All three men raised an eyebrow at her. Mental note, she thought, cockney chimney sweep accents are not as hilarious in England.  
  
She cleared her throat. “Okay, well, I'm carrying a bag. It's heavy and it's obvious by the way the bag hangs that I'm carrying something bulky in there. There are only a few things that could hang this way and be that heavy. And another photographer would recognize the shape of a DSLR in a bag like this."  
  
"Or someone who's handled camera equipment before and has a memory for it," Sherlock said with a sniff.  
  
"Right. And this isn't a camera bag. It's just a big shoulder bag which I dump my camera into. So I'm not a tourist and I'm not a beginner because a tourist or beginner would carry a real camera bag and be more careful. I need to get my camera out quickly to get the shot without being noticeable."  
  
"Clearly." Sherlock didn’t even look at her.  
  
Veronica nodded. "And my reaction when my mother was brought up told you everything you needed to know there."  
  
"But how did he know that it was your mother and not your father that wasn't in the picture?" John asked her. Sherlock frowned. Veronica wondered if he was annoyed that John was asking her and not him.  
  
"Oh!" Lestrade cried, with his hand up like he was schoolboy answering a question. "I know that one! I told you that her father asked me to help her."  
  
Sherlock glared at him openly.  
  
Veronica nodded. "There you go. And again, my reaction to him saying 'parents' – plural -- probably told you again that I just have the one parent. As for my financial status, my bag's a knock-off, so are most of the clothes I'm wearing. Everything else is second hand. And London's not cheap, so yeah, I've been staying at hostels."  
  
John frowned. "But how could he possibly know that others could afford to put you up in a decent hotel?"  
  
"Child's play," Sherlock muttered.  
  
Veronica interrupted him before he could go on. "Jewellery." She pointed to a sparkly pendant at her throat and then to her diamond earrings. "I have friends with expensive tastes. These are all real."  
  
"Wow," John said, clearly impressed.  
  
Veronica looked over at Sherlock and threw his earlier question back at him with a tilt of her head. "How am I doing so far?"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well done. Bravo. Now that we've wasted time showing that you could outsmart the likes of John, maybe we could get to the point?"  
  
Veronica ignored him and started pleading with Lestrade. "Look, Mr. Lestrade, I know you promised my dad that you'd get me some help, but I can figure this out on my own."  
  
Lestrade shook his head. "Sorry, Veronica. I’m taking responsibility for you and I can’t in good conscience tell your dad that I’ve helped you if I let you go off on your own regardless of your qualifications. I know Sherlock here seems like an arrogant twat, but he knows what he’s doing. You just have to give him a chance.” Sherlock's expression didn't change at the insult Lestrade made, but John smiled.  
  
Frustrated but seeing no way out of this, she addressed the room again. “Do you know who Jake Kane is?”  
  
“Should I?” Sherlock answered with an indifferent shrug.  
  
“Wait. The software billionaire?” John asked with wide eyes.  
  
Veronica gave him a finger gun. “That’s the one. Kane Software has offices in London so he has an apartment here. Anyway, I tracked him here for a case. And now he’s accused me of stealing from him. Again. He tried that back in the States and it didn’t work. He’s setting me up.”  
  
“How do you even know him?” John asked. "From what I understood, he’s become a weird recluse over the last few years. Like Howard Hughes.”  
  
Veronica shrugged. “It’s a long story, and Mr. Holmes here doesn’t seem to like long stories.”  
  
“I like when long stories are made short,” Sherlock said.  
  
Veronica scowled at him. “He’s my ex-boyfriend’s father. Short enough?”  
  
Sherlock tapped his fingers to his chin in contemplation as he regarded her. “In my experience, if you’re being set up, there is some plausibility that you could have actually done it. So what aren’t you telling us?  
  
Veronica was ready with a retort that died on her tongue. This was getting them nowhere. She didn’t like this Sherlock Holmes person. But Lestrade was good people and he seemed to think Holmes was the only person who could help her. This other guy, John, seemed kind and earnest. You didn’t get that kind of person on your side without being at least halfway decent, or at least having halfway decent motives. And that she knew from experience.  
  
She sighed. She had to trust someone. She looked at Lestrade. “This is all off the record, right?”  
  
Lestrade’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at his watch. “I was actually off duty as of twenty minutes ago.”  
  
Veronica exhaled. “Okay. Now don’t freak out about this. But the last time Jake Kane accused me of stealing from him, I actually did break into his house and take something from him. But I returned it and no charges were ever brought against me."  
  
Lestrade's eyes widened. John’s jaw dropped. Both men just stared at her incredulously.  
  
Sherlock was the only one who was not shocked. He nodded. "What else?"  
  
No going back now. "Before this all happened, I was kinda planning to break in to Jake Kane’s apartment.”  
  
The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up and he leaned forward. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe you were told to stay away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Timeline/spoilers** : entire series of _Veronica Mars_ , up to _A Scandal in Belgravia_ of _Sherlock_  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Thanks to Audrey Roget for the beta, encouragement, and a willing ear. Thanks to Maybe Amanda for the encouragement and giving me the idea for an actual plot. Thanks to DC for the challenge.

John cursed himself again for not remembering to buy earplugs as Sherlock sawed away on the violin in the room below. He was finding it impossible to read any of the webpages that Sherlock had found. He had just enough concentration to stare at the photos of Veronica on each page.  
  
He stretched and his neck cracked. Sherlock had been exaggerating of course. Veronica hadn't nearly gotten him killed. Roughed up a bit, yes. But this was hardly anything new. He'd been roughed up on a nearly weekly basis since he'd started living with Sherlock.  
  
With Veronica's appearance, Sherlock had been exhibiting all the petty jealousies he usually reserved for John's lady friends. It was ridiculous, of course. They'd just met after all. She just needed help. He didn't think of her that way. Yes, she was smart, exciting, beautiful – well, okay, maybe he did think of her that way a bit. But Veronica didn't exhibit any signs of reciprocating, so it was a moot point, right?  
  
Sherlock believed Veronica's story. He’d said so. So what was his problem with her? Was it really just jealousy?  
  
John could hardly believe Veronica's situation himself. It was a little too far-fetched to believe that a powerful man like Jake Kane would hold a grudge against a girl like her, let alone actively pursue it halfway around the world.  
  
Veronica was trying to find her friend. That was the case she’d been working on that brought her to England. And even though Jake Kane seemed like a simple, albeit strange, software tycoon, Veronica claimed that he had private clandestine interests and that he could help her. It was all a matter of convincing him that it was in his best interest to help.  
  
Sherlock, just to be difficult, acted like he wasn't interested in Veronica’s missing friend at all. During their interview at Lestrade’s office, Sherlock fired a number of questions at her, but they were all about Kane Software and their various dealings. John had meant to ask him why he was so interested in the company over breakfast, but their argument about John’s motivation had derailed him. And when Veronica couldn't -- or wouldn't -- give him the information he wanted, Sherlock petulantly broke off his questioning.  
  
Veronica was undeterred though and had a plan, and Sherlock, probably because it wasn't his plan, didn't care to hear about it. He told John that he could play tour guide to Veronica, while Sherlock himself did actual detective work, and stalked out of Scotland Yard on his own.  
  
Which is how John found himself dangling off the ground, in a stranglehold. They'd been following Jake around London. They were in an alley, and Veronica was explaining how to ‘tail a mark’, when an arm circled around his neck and yanked him back. John gagged on his surprised cry, which came out as a gurgle.  
  
Veronica whipped around in shock, but her expression quickly turned to annoyance when she obviously recognized John's assailant. "Clarence Wiedman."  
  
A deep voice close to John's ear said, "I believe you were told to stay away."  
  
"Is that what those bogus charges were about?"  
  
John flailed and sputtered, hoping to get their attention back to his neck.  
  
"Police seem to think they're real," the man who was holding him rumbled. "Maybe I should just get them on the phone."  
  
"No problem. In fact –" Veronica held up her phone and it clicked as she took a photo. "I happen to have Scotland Yard's Detective Inspector Lestrade in my contacts list. I'll just send him this photo of you manhandling my friend, John, here, and we'll see what he has to say."  
  
John felt the arm around his throat relax and his feet once again touched the ground. John ducked under the arm and turned to face this Clarence Wiedman with Veronica. He was just what you'd expect a henchman to look like, right down to the trench coat and fedora.  
  
"What do you want?" Wiedman asked.  
  
"I want to talk to Jake."  
  
Wiedman snorted. "That's not going to happen."  
  
Veronica put a finger to her lips. "You know, I've still got all of the Castle's secrets."  
  
"Hearsay, at best. You'll never make anything stick."  
  
"Did you have to pay a lot for that lawyer's advice? Honestly, Clarence, you still underestimate me. You think I haven't been busy gathering up evidence and hard proof since our last encounter? I just want to talk to Jake. I don't want anything else."  
  
Castle? Secrets? There was obviously a lot more going on here than just a missing friend, and this guy was more than just a bodyguard. John felt more befuddled than when Sherlock deduced someone at the speed of light.  
  
"I think we've made it abundantly clear that Mr. Kane does not want to speak to you."  
  
"What would the harm be in just talking to her?" John asked. He might not understand what they were talking about, but a standoff was not going to help anyone. Maybe an objective voice might make some headway.  
  
Wiedman turned to John, his gaze as hard as granite. "Sir, how well do you know this girl?"  
  
John stared back, showing no intimidation. "Actually, we've just met."  
  
"Well, I actually do know her and I can tell you that she cannot be trusted. I suggest you stay away from her. She's trouble and she'll only get you into more than you bargained for. Just forget whatever she's told you and walk away right now."  
  
This was beginning to feel like déjà vu. John wondered if maybe this guy would hit it off with Donovan. Or maybe Mycroft, for that matter.  
  
John said, "And yet, of the two people I've met today, she's not the one that put me in a headlock. So you'll forgive me if I'm not likely to believe a word you say. And regardless of that, you didn't answer my question."  
  
"My job is to keep people like Ms. Mars away from Mr. Kane, not to answer your questions. Especially since I have no idea who you are, and you insist on associating with Ms. Mars."  
  
John stuck out his hand. "John Watson. Now you know who I am." Wiedman glared at him. Veronica tried to suppress her grin, and John was glad she was unsuccessful and found himself wondering how he could make her smile like that again.  
  
Unfortunately, Wiedman snapped him back to the moment. "Ah yes, I've heard a lot about the British wit. Here's some friendly advice, Mr. Watson: It won't keep you safe. Especially if you continue to keep company with Veronica Mars."  
  
"And let me offer you some friendly advice in return - Mr. Wiedman, I presume, since we haven't been formally introduced. You got the better of me just now. It won't happen again."  
  
Veronica stepped between them. "And now that we've got the threats and pissing contests out of the way, can we get down to business? Tell Jake I want to make him a deal."  
  
"What makes you think I'm going to tell him anything on your behalf?"  
  
Veronica shook her head, chuckling. "There you go, underestimating me again. Talk to Duncan lately?"  
  
A moment of silence passed between them, but if Wiedman was surprised, he didn't show it. "You know where he is?"  
  
"No. But that doesn't mean we haven't communicated. Does Jake know that you've had contact with Duncan?"  
  
John may not have known what Veronica was talking about, but he knew blackmail when he heard it. Wiedman took another stony, silent moment to contemplate Veronica's threat, then said, "I'll be in touch when I can set something up."  
  
Wiedman walked out of the alley and disappeared into the London crowds.  
  
"Are you okay?" Veronica asked, squeezing his arm.  
  
He rubbed his neck. "I've been worse."  
  
"Sorry about that. Clarence can be a little…reactionary."  
  
"Who's Duncan?"  
  
"Jake's prodigal son." Veronica looked out toward the street like she was trying to see where Clarence went, but he could read something in her eyes before she could look away. Regret. Or was it guilt?  
  
"Your ex. Is he the 'friend' we're trying to find?"  
  
"No." Veronica said emphatically. "But he is…he's still my friend. The short story is that he's got a situation and has been in hiding for over a year now."  
  
"But you've been in contact with him," John said, remembering what she said to Wiedman.  
  
Veronica shook her head. "Nope. Haven't heard a peep from him since the day he left."  
  
John paused trying to piece what Veronica was saying into the bigger picture. "You were bluffing."  
  
Veronica nodded. "I had my suspicions about Duncan and Clarence being in touch. Some circumstances could only add up that way."  
  
The realizations were hitting John quickly now. "You knew Wiedman was following us. You set this whole thing up."  
  
Veronica shrugged. "It worked out better than I thought it would. I thought it would take him at least another hour before he'd confront me. So that gives us some more time."  
  
John asked, "Time for what?"  
  
Veronica smiled widely. "I believe Sherlock said you could be my tour guide if you wanted. Care to show me some London sights?"  
  
She practically skipped out of the alley. It was almost worth the headlock.  
  
\---------  
  
The tunes stopped as Veronica's cell phone rang, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a London number. Good. It meant her father wasn't checking up on her yet. She missed him but she wasn't ready for the lecture or the explanation she'd have to come up with for him.  
  
She took the call. Wiedman's low voice was almost a whisper. "This afternoon. 1PM. Kane Software offices. Ask for me at the desk."  
  
The call disconnected before she could reply. "Hello to you, too, Sunshine," she muttered to no one.  
  
She realized she couldn't hear the violin or yelling any more, which made her think it might be safe to approach John and Sherlock's apartment.  
  
She climbed the stairs. The door was open, but the living room was empty. She knew Sherlock's room was on this floor while John's was another floor up. But she didn't hear any movement. Had they gone out? Regardless, this might be her only chance to have a look around, unsupervised.  
  
 _Snooping again?_  The voice in her head asked as she stepped into the room. Logan's voice. Her conscience was a big fan of irony.  
  
She knew exactly when that nagging voice went from sounding like her dad to sounding like Logan, and that was right around the time Logan went missing. For the past couple of weeks she'd been playing out imaginary conversations with him in her head, knowing just how snarky all his responses would be, making her miss him all the more.  
  
 _Just getting to know my hosts_ , she replied in her head, making her way over to the fireplace to inspect the assortment on the mantel. She imagined him leaning languidly against it as she picked up items and examined them. She wouldn't turn to look at him directly, knowing that the apparition would disappear.  
  
 _Are you sure you don't mean looking for leverage?_  His long fingers danced across the shelf and then he held them up, inspecting them for dust.  
  
 _No need. They're already helping me. They just seem, you know, interesting. Maybe I'm just **interested**. Jealous?_  
  
 _Always._  He was closing the distance between them.  
  
Something fell to the floor, jarring her from her reverie. She had picked up the decorative skull when the small, soft box had fallen. Ugh. A pack of cigarettes. She tried to figure out how it could've fallen out of – Ew. Jesus, this skull was real. She grimaced as she put it back down. She bent down to pick up the packet. Who the hell hid cigarettes in a real fucking skull?  
  
"I'll take those."  
  
She straightened up, surprised to find Sherlock in the room, his hand outstretched. Well, that answered that question.  
  
She walked over and gave him the packet, taking in his appearance as she did. "You look… different," she said, frowning. "What are you supposed to be?"  
  
"How?" he asked, sliding the cigarettes into his pants pocket.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're a detective. Tell me how I look different."  
  
This again? "How the hell am I supposed to do that? I met you yesterday."  
  
"I didn't ask you to tell me how I  _normally_  look. I simply asked you to tell me the difference between how I looked before and how I look now. I know you're not stupid. I shouldn't have to explain semantics to you."  
  
Veronica tamped down the urge to tell him to fuck himself and stomp off. It had taken many lessons to learn that got her nowhere. And there was no shortage of people that underestimated her. But it was rare that someone challenged her like this.  
  
"What kind of detail do you want?"  
  
Sherlock shrugged. "Impress me."  
  
Again, she fought the urge to walk away. She thought back. "Yesterday, you were in a suit. I'm not familiar with men’s fashion, so I can't say what label it was."  
  
Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Not important. What else?"  
  
Here goes. She closed her eyes to help her remember. "Six feet tall. Caucasian. Slim build. Wavy, black hair, approximately two inches in length, parted on the left. Blue eyes, almost grey. No noticeable scars or marks. Black suit. Jacket -- one button, thin lapels. Pants -- tapered. Shirt -– dress, white, with black buttons. No tie. Shoes -- black leather, lace up, Oxford style. Occasionally seen wearing a coat -- black tweed, distinctive red buttonhole."  
  
She opened her eyes again. "Impressed?"  
  
A raised eyebrow was the only visible response he gave her. "Eidetic memory?"  
  
“I dunno.” Veronica shrugged. "My dad was Sheriff of our town when I was growing up. He drummed into me at a pretty early age how to catalogue a suspect's features to make sure I could identify him later. Eyewitnesses are unreliable at best, he'd say, but Keith Mars' daughter would not be." Pride and regret had crept into her voice while talking about her dad. She felt a pang of homesickness.  
  
Sherlock gave a bored sniff. "Yes, well, moving on. I'm different today because?"  
  
"Besides how you look like you're going to a costume party dressed as a nerd?"  
  
That got a reaction. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why do you say it like that? The bit about the costume, that is."  
  
"Because it looks like you're trying too hard. Nerds – real nerds – don't  _try_  to look like nerds. They just  _are_ nerds."  
  
He held a finger up as though he'd figured out the problem with what she had said. "Ah. But you're saying that because you already know something of my personality. If you forget everything you know about me already, then what would you say?"  
  
"Thank you?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "And what would you say if you were actually trying to be helpful?"  
  
"It all depends. Are you trying to fool the average person or people like us?"  
  
"Both," he said, clasping his hands behind his back as if to give her a better view of him and let her know that he was waiting.  
  
She smirked, pleased that he did not refute her like she expected him to. She looked him up and down again. "You're a walking stereotype. You look like you're an extra on  _Big Bang Theory_. So even to the average person you're going to stand out because you look too much the part. And I'm assuming you don't want to stand out."  
  
He gave her a quick nod. "You assume correctly. Tell me what's wrong."  
  
"Tell you, as in this is another test or tell you, you really want to know?"  
  
"Both," he answered again.  
  
Veronica’s eyes roved over him now, taking in all the details. She had to admit, he actually wasn’t that hard to look at if he wasn’t talking. Veronica walked around him and began to list what was wrong. "Lose the glasses. Anyone who sees you on surveillance or takes a photo of you will see right away that those aren't real lenses. The T-shirt, Doctor Who? You could get away with that in the States. Too obvious here in Jolly Ol'. A geek uses his knowledge of a fandom to show his obsession. He doesn't need to wear it on his shirt and if he does, it's subtle and obscure. The Chucks are fine. And the khakis can stay, but uncuff them."  
  
Sherlock took the glasses off. Then he turned around and headed back to his bedroom, tossing the glasses on the cluttered kitchen table as he went.  
  
He'd left the door open. She stood for a moment, wondering if she was supposed to follow. When she saw a number of shirts fly across the threshold of his bedroom, she thought it best she not get in his way.  
  
Weird. Does John usually help him with this sort of thing?  
  
He reappeared within two minutes. This time in a plain, heather grey T-shirt. He was pulling a plaid, short sleeve, button-up on over it, leaving it open. It looked like it could've come from John's wardrobe. For all she knew, it probably had.  
  
"Anything else?" he asked, arms outstretched, inviting her to take in his appearance again.  
  
She gave him another appraising look. "Yeah, your hair."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"It's too severe. Come here."  
  
When he didn't move, she went over to him. She raised hands toward his head, and he flinched back. She looked him in the eye. "May I?"  
  
After a long moment of trying to gauge her intentions, he nodded. He bent forward, not taking his eyes off hers. She reached out again and when her fingers touched his hair, his eyes finally closed. She gently rifled her fingers through the combed, smoothed down locks. His hair was softer than she'd anticipated. She shook it all out and then parted it the way she'd remembered he'd had it yesterday. When her fingers slowed, his eyes opened again, staring coolly at her again. How were his eyes even paler now?  
  
Her breath caught and she stepped back awkwardly. Unable to figure out what else to do with them, she put her hands in her jeans pockets, while he straightened up. "Better?"  
  
Veronica nodded and swallowed. "Natural is better." Much better. If he passed her on campus like this, she wouldn’t give him a second look, she told herself. Okay, maybe a second look. But not a third. Definitely not a third.  
  
He frowned when she said nothing more, then said, "Thank you." Then he turned and started down the stairs.  
  
Veronica called after him at the top of the stairs. "Do I get to know what this get-up is for?"  
  
"Work," he replied before he walked out the front door. "You may resume your rummaging. If you find any more cigarettes, please be sure to leave them where I can find them."  
  
"Toodles," Veronica said to the closed door.  
  
 _And just what the hell was **that**?_  From the corner of her eye, the Logan Apparition pushed off from the fireplace where she'd last seen him leaning and strode towards her. He'd be wired, he'd be itching for an argument.  
  
"Something interesting," she whispered, still looking at the front door.  
  
 _So what? You’re trading one hairpile for another?_  He would be breathing hard now, staring her down, daring her to dare him.  
  
She turned toward the apparition, no longer concerned if he did disappear. In fact, she hoped he would. But now she refrained from speaking aloud because she was afraid of raising her voice as she would if he were really there.  
  
 _Piz was not – you know – God damn it! He and I are done. And were done before you went missing. Jesus, Logan, I'm here! I'm in another country across a whole ocean, looking for **you**. That's got to say something far more than a momentary distraction. And when I find you, I'll tell you –_  
  
"Hullo? Is that you down there, Veronica?" John called from his room. He was starting down the stairs.  
  
"Uh, yeah," she replied, trying to get her bearings back in reality.  
  
He came into the living room. She was relieved that he was dressed normally and that she wouldn't have to play any guessing games with him. "Are you here alone?" he asked as he glanced about the room in confusion. "I thought I heard someone talking."  
  
Veronica blushed. "Sherlock was here, but then went out. For work, he said."  
  
"Oh." John said. He was noticeably miffed.  
  
"But I actually came up here to see you."  
  
"Oh!" John said again, brightening suddenly. "And what can I do for you?"  
  
His enthusiasm was infectious, and she found herself returning his eager smile, faltering only momentarily when she glanced back to the now desolate fireplace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You haven't changed a bit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Timeline/spoilers** : entire series of _Veronica Mars_ , up to _A Scandal in Belgravia_ of _BBC Sherlock_  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Thanks to Audrey Roget for the beta, encouragement, and a willing ear. Thanks to Maybe Amanda for the encouragement and giving me the idea for an actual plot. Thanks to DC for the challenge.

"Veronica Mars."

"Jake Kane."

John stood beside Veronica and wondered if this was a tradition the States, to say each other's full names by way of greeting – or threat, as it seemed to be in this case. All the Americans he'd met in the last two days had done it. 

He tried to think of other Americans he knew. The Yank soldiers he'd worked with in Afghanistan were all about surnames and rank. But army life was a totally different world. He was beginning to think that the one Veronica lived in was too.

For a full minute those were the only words said when John and Veronica were ushered into the enormous, austere office. Kane Software's London location was located in the upper floors of a trendy glass office tower. These newer buildings provided a tremendous view of the city. But despite making these buildings geometrical wonders, they were impersonal and faceless on the inside. Trading glass for concrete just let the people inside know what they were missing. 

Even so, this high up, how could they even tell what they were missing? Viewing London from above didn't tell you anything about London other than what it looked like from outside. No, if you wanted to know London, really know it, you needed to be _in_ London, on the ground, where pomp, pretension, and economy lived in the same street; where you were confronted with history and modernity, with a constant griminess, and a press of humanity all at once. Down there, that's where the real London happened. Up here was for people who wanted to have the luxury of saying they were here but not have to deal with the real messiness of being in the city. See but not touch or hear or smell.

Jake Kane's office was shinier, but just as impersonal as the rest of this floor, with a sterile white and grey colour scheme. Glass and metal everywhere. If you tried to look too deeply at anything in the room, you were met with a reflection of yourself. It was all designed to unnerve.

Jake didn't stand when they'd entered the room. He just sat behind the wide glass desk and stared at Veronica impassively. Clarence remained in the room behind them, keeping watch in a stance that John immediately recognized as military issue. That explained a lot.

It was Jake who gave a cocky laugh and broke their bizarre staring contest.

"You haven't changed a bit," he said with an almost maniacal grin.

Veronica shrugged. "Wish I could say the same."

John took in the man behind the desk and wondered how he'd changed to Veronica. He looked just like the pictures he'd seen in the papers and magazines. His brown hair was flecked with grey and getting a little long for a man his age. He had a grizzled but trimmed beard. He wore a loose-fitting suit, and a dress shirt done up to his neck, but no tie. John could tell by his shoulders that Jake was probably a tall man even if he didn't get up, probably even taller than Sherlock, which was how he found himself judging heights now. It was the utter disdain in Jake's eyes as he watched Veronica that gave John a clue as to what Veronica must have been hinting at. And yet John could also see apprehension and discontent. 

"Come to bring back my property?" Jake asked. "Again, I might add."

"I didn't take anything."

"Oh, you weren't found with anything. I'll give you that. That doesn't mean you didn't take anything."

"And where would I put whatever this anything is?" Veronica asked with her arms outstretched. "I was searched at Scotland Yard. I haven't been in the city long enough to find anywhere to hide anything." Her arms flopped back to her sides with a slap.

"And yet, here you are, with a new friend who you spent the night with, no less." 

"Pardon me?" John stepped forward, fists clenched. Jake slid his gaze over to John, but before John could take another step forward, Clarence was in front of him. 

"Clarence tells me you're a former army doctor, did a tour in Afghanistan, and now you write a blog about solving crimes. We particularly enjoyed the story called _The Great Game_. A criminal mastermind. Imagine!" Jake laughed with bizarre delight.

John looked up at Clarence. "Stalking, headlocks, internet searches…Where do you find the time?"

"I make the time," Clarence rumbled.

Jake turned back to Veronica. "A step down for you, isn't he, Veronica? I mean, he's not exactly a millionaire's son now, is he? Lord knows you've run through your gamut of those."

"You expect me to just stand here and let him insult her like that?" John asked Clarence.

"Yes. And if you can't, then you and I are going to have a conversation outside. I told you he didn't want to see her."

Jake smirked at the exchange between Clarence and John. "I'll grant you this, Veronica, he's loyal. You know, people can say what they like about you being your father's daughter, but you are more like your mother than you'll ever know."

Veronica's jaw clenched and John could almost hear her molars grinding before she said, "Well, you'd be the expert on that, wouldn't you?"

Veronica had given him some background on Jake before they arrived at Kane Software – the death of his daughter, the cover-up of her murder, his ruthlessness as a CEO. She hadn't told him much more than an exhaustive Google search could have unearthed. But obviously there was more to their history than she'd let on. She'd never mentioned anything about her mother.

Jake's grin widened, knowing he'd hit his mark. "Wanna know where she is? Is that why you're here? Is that what you wanna make a _deal_ about?"

Veronica closed her eyes, regaining her composure. She exhaled loudly and when she opened her eyes again, her face was a mask of affability. "The day my mother cares about where I am, I'll consider making the effort."

There was just the tiniest fraction of disappointment in Jake's eyes before he wisely changed the subject. "Then why are you here? What could I possibly have that you haven't already taken?"

Anyone within a hundred mile radius could tell that question was laden with quite possibly a billion layers.

"Information."

"Again, you've already taken it. That's why I called the police."

"And like I keep saying, it wasn't me."

John cleared his throat. "As much as I would love to take this scenic roundabout again, maybe you could clarify what it is you think Veronica's taken." When Veronica swung her head around to glare at John, he quickly added, "Which she clearly hasn't." 

"My intellectual property."

"What, you don't keep a copy?" John asked with an incredulous laugh.

Jake looked at John with barely disguised irritation. "You don't make copies of trade-secrets. You give people access to them. And you make sure those people would rather die than reveal them."

Veronica pointed to herself. "And yet, you think I've been able to access them."

"Someone did and suddenly you're in town. I don't believe in coincidences. Besides, it's not like you haven't hacked my systems before."

"As flattered as I am that you're not underestimating me for once, I had help that time."

"Looks like you've got help this time, too." Jake gestured towards John.

With a withering glance, Veronica said, "How do you think a charming doctor I met yesterday helped me hack into the world-renowned Kane Software's trade-secrets vault two days ago?" John beamed at the flattering remark she'd paid him and then realized she'd also kind of said he was useless. Of course, if it had been Sherlock, the sentiment would've come out much worse. 

"We all know you're a resourceful young woman," Clarence said. "The particular network where these trade-secrets were kept is only accessible by a select number of employees, all of whom have been vetted through rigorous background checks. All of whom have been debriefed and have alibis at the time of the theft."

"Whose credentials were used to access the network?" John asked.

"Mr. Kane's," Clarence answered.

"And I take it the most obvious conclusion isn't the correct one?" John asked.

It took Jake a beat to realize the implication. "Why the hell would I steal my own property?"

Veronica, frowning, put a finger to her lips as if in deep concentration. "Gee, if it looks like a set-up and smells like a set-up…"

Jake shook his head. "Never mind what I said earlier. You _are_ just like your father."

Veronica grinned widely and insincerely. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It'll be the last thing you take from me," Jake muttered.

"Are they always like this?" John asked Clarence.

"No, when she was younger, she had a healthy respect for her elders."

Jake smiled. "That's right. Veronica especially liked me. She once told me I was a 'cool dad'."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Guess what I say now. Can we get back on track?"

John took that as a cue to make things clearer, at least for himself. "How d'you mean theft? They took a copy of it? So what?"

"If they take a copy and it gets anywhere near the public domain, then it's not a 'secret' any more, is it?" Clarence said impatiently. "Besides, they didn't just take a copy. They took their copy, sent it through some elaborate routing process that we are still trying to sort out. Then they burned everything on the network. Now do you see why it's so important we get it back?"

"Christ. Yeah." Whoever this was meant business.

Veronica asked, "Why do you still think it was me? I mean, it was your credentials that were used. It's got to be someone close to you."

"What was taken is everything I've been working on for the last six months. It's going to revolutionize the security industry. You're telling me you wouldn't want that?"

Veronica shook her head with a laugh. "Okay, I have no clue what you're talking about. I have no interest in Kane Software and what it does. Never cared. If I stumbled on your so-called trade-secrets, I wouldn't even know what they were, let alone what they'd be worth to anybody. That's not what I'm here for."

"Then enlighten me, what are you here for? You can't have come to London just out of the blue."

Veronica nodded. "You're right. I'm here because of you. And the only reason you know I'm here is because I made sure you and Clarence knew I was here. Like I said, you have information I want and I'm willing to make a deal to get it."

Jake spread his arms wide. "Make your offer."

"I'll find who took your trade-secrets in exchange for the whereabouts of Gory Sorokin."

Jake's arms dropped and his eyes widened in surprise as he sat back, taking a moment to recover. "What makes you think I know where he is?" he asked.

"The Castle. You know where everybody in the Castle is. And you have influence over them all."

Veronica had also told John a bit about the Castle after she'd threatened Clarence Wiedman with it the day before. It was a secret society at her university, which sounded more ominous than the Masons. To initiate new pledges they would force them to tell their worst, and likely, criminal secrets about themselves on camera, which would ensure their loyalty. Jake was one of its highest-ranking members.

Jake shook his head. "Then you know why I can't give you that information. After you nearly destroyed us, we have to keep what little we have and that's our allegiance to one another."

Veronica shrugged. "Then you have to decide, don't you? What's more important? Your company's livelihood or your loyalty to a mob prince who would probably sell you out in a second if he was given the same choice."

"What do you want with him?"

"He took something of mine and disappeared with it. I want it back."

John frowned. He realized that Veronica hadn't mentioned the name of the person she was looking for yet. But obviously this Gory person wasn't the friend she was trying to find. What did Gory take that had anything to do with her friend? And why hadn't she just told Jake about the friend? At some point, he was going to have to insist on the whole story.

Jake chuckled. "I guess you know how it feels now." John wondered if he knew how ridiculous he looked – a middle-aged man, head of a multinational company, mocking a young woman. Even if they had a bitter past, he was acting like a prat.

Veronica crossed her arms and glared at Jake. "Do you really want to stack up what I've lost against what you've lost? Because I will always come out ahead in that contest."

She and Jake were having another staring contest, when Clarence interrupted. "So why can't you find him yourself? You're a private detective, after all."

Veronica broke her gaze from Jake and turned to Clarence. "I tracked him to London. Then I lost him. You know who his connections are. I'm assuming he's in the 'Old Country'." She used finger quotes and emphasized her terminology with a silly faux Eastern European accent. "It'll take me forever to infiltrate their organization and get what I want. I don't have that kind of time. I'm assuming The Castle can get past those connections."

Clarence didn't acknowledge her statement, but asked, "And how do you propose to find the real thief? We've already got top security consultants in the country looking into it. You're here on your own, with dubious backup at best." Clarence gave a nod towards John, who rolled his eyes in response.

"Please." Veronica snorted. "I've done your dirty work before, Clarence. Twice, and without even trying."

Jake leaned forward and spoke up. "And if I agree to this deal —"

Clarence stepped forward, interrupting. "Sir! That's not _advisable_ —"

Jake held up a hand to silence him. "If I agree to your deal and tell you how to find him, what assurances do I have that Sorokin never finds out who your source was?"

"You have my word."

Jake sat back, shaking his head. "Not good enough."

Veronica blew out a frustrated breath. "You'll get what you want and I'll get what I want. I won't do anything to jeopardize that."

"It's that important to you then? What Gory took?"

Veronica stepped up, planted her hands on the desk, and leaned forward, studying Jake for a moment before she answered. "Yes."

Jake stared back at her, as if gauging her sincerity. Without taking his eyes off her, he said, "Give her what she needs to find the asshole who took my property."

"And then you'll tell me how to get to Gory Sorokin?" Veronica asked, confirming their agreement.

Jake just nodded, then turned his back to them, staring at the view out the window as Clarence showed them out.

\--------

Clarence ushered them down a hallway. Tinted windows lined one side of the hall while empty boardrooms lined the other. Veronica had been prattling on to the bodyguard about some rubbish from their past, obviously trying to get under his skin, when Clarence pushed open an external door that led out to a terrace. He grabbed John by the upper arm and shoved him outside.

"What the hell — ?" John started in surprise and anger.

"Hey!" Veronica yelled. 

"You wait here," Clarence said, pointing at John with one hand while holding the equally surprised Veronica back from the door with his other.

"Why?!" John said. "Your boss just told you to give us the details we need!"

Clarence held the balcony door close to him so that John could not find an opening back through the entrance. "No, he said I have to give it to Ms. Mars. You weren't part of the deal. There's sensitive proprietary material everywhere in this office and I can't keep my eye on both of you."

"And you can keep your eye on me out here?" He could see through the glass that Veronica had stopped struggling with Clarence and stood there looking resigned.

Clarence pointed up to a camera above the door. "I'll come back for you when we are finished. And you can't get back in without security access." Then Clarence raised his voice, directing his next sentences past John. "And don't think about sneaking in behind anybody. Our employees know better than to just let anyone in the building!"

From behind him, he heard a murmur of consent. John turned to find a handful of people, milling about, all with cigarettes dangling from their lips or fingers. Fantastic. Not only was he just humiliated in front of strangers, but he was also going to get a lungful of second-hand smoke for his efforts as well.

The door shut before John could turn back and give Clarence more of a piece of his mind. Veronica shrugged helplessly at John through the window before she followed Clarence down the hall and out of sight.

"Bugger," John muttered.

Well, he was stuck, he thought with a sigh. He might as well enjoy the view. He moved to the edge of the terrace where he hoped the breeze would keep the smoke from getting into his clothes or hair. 

John leaned against the railing. What would Sherlock do in this situation? Besides inhale deeply, that is. Well, he'd take one look at the view, declare it dull, then turn around and deduce anyone in sight. Might as well practice, John thought.

He began to take in the details of the smokers, when the door opened and a new batch of smokers filed onto the terrace. He turned his deductive attentions to the newcomers. 

Twenty-five, left-handed, ironic T-shirt, probably lives in Shoreditch, thinks he's really a musician, but is here to pay the bills. Next, bottle-blonde, five foot - two inches, married, about six months pregnant — God, really? The doctor in him was dying to lecture her. Moving on… Oh, bloody hell. No. 

John caught Sherlock's eye. Sherlock turned to make a dash for the door but the large bloke who had filed out behind him was in his way and he had to dodge to avoid running into him. While he apologized to the big man, John was able to catch up. He was in front of Sherlock in an instant. 

Sherlock sighed deeply before he said, "Help you?"

John looked him up and down with a bemused expression. If he'd seen Sherlock leaving the flat this morning, he would have guessed he was going to a fancy dress party. 

"Cadge a smoke off ya, mate?" John asked with a smug grin.

Sherlock started to shake his head innocently, but then quickly assessed that he was caught. Why the hell else would he be out in a smoking area? He closed his eyes, let out another put-upon sigh, then reached into his pocket and fished out a cigarette pack, tapped one out for John.

"So you found the hiding place then? Where the cigarettes were?" John asked quietly, so that others wouldn't hear, and took the offered cigarette.

"'Course. A doddle." Sherlock muttered with a shrug as he moved toward the railing. John followed. 

"And you needed cigarettes because…?"

"Had to fit in here. Nothing else for it." Sherlock waved towards the other smokers. "Besides, it's amazing what you learn during a smoking break."

John understood the implication right away. He was distracting Sherlock from detective work. Well, he could bloody well take another break later. Right now John wanted explanations.

Sherlock lit his own cigarette, then held the lighter out to John, sheltering it from the wind with his other hand. John frowned at the little flame, then at Sherlock.

"You're going to have to fit in, too, you know," Sherlock explained. "You did just ask for a cigarette. It would look terribly suspicious if you didn't at least light it."

Right. John looked down at the cigarette he'd been fiddling with in his fingers. Oh God. He should've known Sherlock would get the last laugh. He held the cigarette up to his mouth and let Sherlock light it.

John took a puff, as he'd seen other smokers do. He grimaced and sputtered as he exhaled. 

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't inhale it again. You just have to fool the camera. Hold it over the railing and put it to your mouth once in a while. Tap it to knock the ash off the end before it gets too long," he said with the cigarette to his mouth, muffling their discussion. They both turned and leaned on the railing. By now the other smokers had formed their own cliques, leaving them to their conversation.

After a moment of stolen glances around the smoking area, Sherlock spoke in a low voice. "This'll have to be short. Camera's got a view of the whole terrace. If security's watching, they've already seen you approach me. We can't look like we're talking any more than casually."

"So what's all this then?" John asked. "I leave you to your own devices for a day, and you put on your least posh clothes and go out and get a proper job? If I go on holiday will you be married, have 2.5 children and have moved to St. Albans by the time I get back?"

"Oh, shut up. You know what this is."

"Sure I do. You're following us around 'cos you're jealous. Or you're showing off that you could get into Kane Software on your own."

"Neither. As usual, you are letting your feelings cloud your judgment," Sherlock said before taking a drag.

John rolled his eyes. "Right. Robot. Forgot. Well, regardless, dazzle me then. How'd you get into Kane Software?"

"How do you think I got in?" Why would he ever be straightforward when Sherlock could make it into a lesson? John was never sure if it was really to teach him anything other than he'd never get one over on Sherlock.

"They needed a consulting detective?" John asked, tapping his cigarette.

"No. They needed a security consultant. Got the consulting company they're using to hire me and plant me here. Impressed them with a couple of deductions and I was in. Didn't take much convincing, really."

"Hope you didn't use your own name. They've already looked me up. Won't take them a jot to know you and I are linked."

"Obviously I didn't." 

John glanced up and looked at Sherlock's badge. 'S. Anderson'. Nicely done.

"And what have you learned so far?"

"Nothing yet. Induction all morning. Haven't been able to get away yet. Should be able to sneak off after this break though. You?"

"Trade-secrets. Gonna revolutionise security software. That's what was stolen. Veronica's off getting the details from the head of security right now."

"Of course!" Sherlock hit the railing with his fist.

"Of course, what?"

Sherlock chuckled. "You really don't see what this is all about?"

John simply shook his head. They didn't have time for the guessing and getting it wrong game. Their cigarettes were quickly running out.

"Kane Software, a worldwide software corporation, is robbed? And right after who turned up on our doorstep, asking us to decipher what she thought was pilfered code?"

"The Woman?" John asked, frowning. He knew better than to use Irene Adler's name with Sherlock. "You think this is her?" John knew very well it couldn't be her, what with her being dead and all, but he was positive that Sherlock still didn't know that. 

"No!" Sherlock gritted out. "Think harder! Who was behind her?"

" _Him_?!" John asked incredulously. He realized he'd said it too loudly when heads turned. He lowered his voice again. "You think _he's_ working this?"

"Obviously. Why else would I be here?"

"Dunno. Perhaps to help the girl staying with us who's in trouble?"

"You _clearly_ have a handle on that. So I can devote my time to the real matter."

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "The _real_ matter?! The real matter here is that even if this is _him_ then he's setting Veronica up. And she needs help. That _should_ be the only matter."

"And I told you that she's manipulating you. Here you are, defending her again. You're out here, where you're learning the very important art of pretending to smoke, while she's in there, up to God knows what!"

John took a moment to realize what he was implying. "You don't honestly think she is working with Moriarty, do you?"

At the mention of his name, Sherlock shot John a look of 'shut up'. "He didn't get what he wanted through The Woman and her MOD client. Obviously, he's desperate for this code they wanted me to decipher. So he's trying another tactic. Straight to the source."

He was making too many leaps for John. "But you said you believed Veronica. That she didn't do it. That she's looking for her friend." Doubt tugged at him. After her exchange with Jake Kane, he wasn't sure at all what Veronica was looking for and it gave Sherlock's theory more credence.

Sherlock blinked. "I did, didn't I? Well, either I was wrong then or I'm wrong now. Either way, we have something else to go on now. But more importantly, my cigarette is done." Sherlock stubbed out his butt.

Before Sherlock could walk away John asked, "What am I to do then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Prove me right or wrong. If nothing else, you're aware now that more's going on than we know, so be observant." He turned on his heel to leave the terrace, but then turned back and held up the cigarette butt to John. "Doesn't count, right? Shouldn't count if it was part of the disguise, yeah?"

"Whatever," John muttered. Normally he would have relished Sherlock squirming, but he couldn't hide his disappointment with the pieces of the puzzle that Sherlock had revealed.

He watched as Sherlock went to the door, which opened just before he got to it. Out stepped Clarence Wiedman with Veronica in tow. Clarence ignored Sherlock as though he were just another worker. Hiding in plain sight, Sherlock called it. It still impressed the hell out of John whenever he saw it in action.

As Clarence crooked a finger at John, signalling for him to rejoin them, neither Sherlock nor Veronica showed any surprise at seeing the other and passed each other without acknowledgement. John was amazed at Veronica's acting ability. What a match she was for Sherlock. And that thought dejected him all the more so he pushed it away. He consoled himself knowing that Sherlock would never see it, and Veronica would probably kill him first.

Veronica didn't seem to notice John's mood, and simply smiled at him, like there was no one else in the world she'd rather see at that moment. Damn. He was going to have a rough time staying observant if she kept that up. 

John followed them back into the building. Veronica held back to walk along side him. As soon as Clarence back was to them, Veronica whispered, "So what did he find out?"

John sighed. Of course she knew what Sherlock was doing. And why wouldn't she? She was clever. She'd have to be to stay ahead of them if she really was playing the game Sherlock suspected. Wouldn't that be what he would say right now? Well, maybe now was the time to put some of Sherlock's lectures to use. Give nothing away and then there isn't anything to hold against you later.

He steeled his nerve and he simply shook his head. It could mean anything – don't know, not now, or just nothing. She could take that however she wanted.

But he felt his resolve start to crack when her hand slipped into the crook of his arm, letting him take the lead.

"Too bad for him."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So how do you see this playing out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Timeline/spoilers** : entire series of _Veronica Mars_ , up to _A Scandal in Belgravia_ of _BBC Sherlock_  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Thanks to Audrey Roget for the beta, encouragement, and a willing ear. Thanks to Maybe Amanda for giving me the idea for an actual plot. Thanks to DC for the challenge.

Sherlock must have said something to John. That was the only reason Veronica could think of for John to be acting this way so suddenly. Like he'd abruptly turned off. Oh, he was exceedingly polite; just no longer attentive except to watch her when he didn't think she'd notice.

She sat outside Speedy's Café. John had lent her his laptop, and she was surfing and catching up on the news at home while she waited for her friend Mac to log on for a chat. But California was eight hours behind, and Mac would still be at her summer job. 

The time difference might have only been three hours, if the FBI hadn't rescinded her internship offer. Considering all the other scandals her name had been attached to, she didn't know why the Feds had drawn the line at the implication that her dad had covered up her break-in at the Kanes'. She would have put money on Jake extending his influence, just like he did everywhere else.

But she didn't have money to make bets, not after buying a plane ticket to London at the height of travel season. She refused to think about how many textbooks she would've been able to buy next semester with the cost of her flight. But once she found Logan, they'd go home and she'd get a few PI cases to keep her afloat.

The slow connection at the café finally coughed up a recent article on the Neptune Register website describing current Sheriff Vinnie Van Lowe's half-assed efforts to find Logan. Balboa County law enforcement apparently had bigger priorities than searching for the spoiled son of a suicide victim and a murdering lech, no matter that their movies were still a mainstay of the local late-late show. Once she'd realized that Logan was missing and not just off binging or "finding himself," her dad had insisted she go through legitimate channels. Her record couldn't risk any more blemishes, especially when it was beginning to affect her future. She inhaled deeply, remembering how hard had it been to swallow her pride and present Van Lowe with her case that Logan was missing. 

Vinnie, so smug, so flippant, just dismissed her. He was a vapid version of Sheriff Lamb. She'd almost preferred Lamb's cruelty to Vinnie's incompetence. At least Lamb knew when Veronica was insulting him.  
It wasn't until Veronica got Trina, Logan's sister, to make a stink about not being able to get hold of Logan that his disappearance got any attention. But a millionaire bad boy going AWOL doesn't garner the best kind of media attention. Soon no one seemed to care.

And now here she was in London, one of the cities she most wanted to visit before she died. But instead of taking in the sights and enjoying herself, she was sitting at a café, hunched over a borrowed laptop, reading an internet article about how her ex-boyfriend's trail had gone cold and now was suspected of wanting to not be found. Impossible. No, she _knew_ Logan. Things were going well. They'd been taking things slowly. Okay, they hadn't actually _said_ they were getting back together, but it was obvious. At least it was to her. And all his smiles, touches, and innuendo told her it was obvious to him too.

The lid of the laptop lowered suddenly and she sat up, surprised to find Sherlock sitting across from her, his palm on top of the now closed computer.

"So how do you see this playing out?" 

Veronica rolled her eyes at his attempt to be dramatic. "Well, I see myself pointedly ignoring you while I open the laptop again. I'm going to finish my coffee while I Skype with my IT Guru back home. She's going to do what she does best and then tell me who did it, and then I'll go back to Jake Kane, and he is going to give me the information I want. I'll have cleared my name and I can thank you for nothing by continuing to pointedly ignore you for the rest of my life. Then you can pretend I was never here. We'll all get what we want."

Sherlock slouched down in his chair, his hands clapped together with his fingertips pressed to his lips as he regarded her coolly. "That's going to be rather difficult."

"Because you're going to stop me?" 

"If I have to."

"Is that why you sent John on your little errand? So you can stop me? I thought you told Lestrade you'd help."

"That was before I knew what this was really all about."

"What _what_ is all about?" Veronica asked with irritation.

"You're really going to do this? Play coy? Did he not tell you who I was? It doesn’t work with me."

"Are you on drugs or something? Did who not tell me what? John? You sent him off on some goose chase to get him away from me."

"For his own protection."

Veronica shook her head with a laugh. "Riiiight. And not at all because you don't want me to make you look like an idiot in front of him?"

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. "I have never cared what I look like to anyone. You are letting him make a fool of himself over you."

"And you don't?" Veronica shot back.

"I treat him like he's foolish. There's a difference. I don't dupe him into believing anything else. Stop trying to change the subject."

Veronica threw her hands up in frustration. "I don’t know what the subject is!" 

He leaned forward. "You, why you're really here, and your benefactor."

"Benefactor?" she squinted at him in confusion. "Okay, you're the one who wants answers, so you have to start making sense or we're going to be doing this dance for a while."

"I've heard that the truth is a rather renowned place to start."

"Everything I've told you has been true."

"And yet, you haven't told us _everything_. Like who Logan Echolls is."

Without even blinking at him, she said, "Aaron and Lynn Echolls' son."

"So the tabloids say. They also say he's your boyfriend."

" _Ex_ -boyfriend," she corrected him.

"You seem to have rather a lot of those."

Really? He was going to go there? Did no one have any imagination? She expected better from the English. "No more than the average girl my age. How many do you have?"

Sherlock ignored her gibe. "You're really going pretend you don't know so that I have to spell it all out?"

Veronica shrugged. "Sure. I could use a laugh."

"Logan Echolls has been missing for weeks. Neither the media nor the local police have taken much interest. You, on the other hand, have led a crusade with both to keep his case from going cold. One can only assume that with your private detective background that his trail has led you here."

Veronica sat back and looked at him impassively. "Other than my friend's name, none of that has exactly been a secret."

"But the reason you've gone to Jake Kane is, is it not? You were going to break into his flat, but before you got a chance to search his flat, you were accused of stealing his intellectual property."

"We know this already."

"Is that when you contacted him? To fix it for you?"

Veronica frowned. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Don't be obtuse."

"I know three men in this country: you, John, and Greg Lestrade. So which of you did I contact? Here's my phone. Check its history." She held out her cell to him.

"You know exactly who I mean." Sherlock said, waving her hand away. "The name. The name no-one says."

"Now who's being coy?" Then Veronica narrowed her eyes at him and asked, "Or am I being punk'd? Did Dick put you up to this? No, this is too elaborate for that jackass. My dad? Is he trying to teach me another lesson?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock gritted out impatiently.

Veronica looked at him blankly. "I got nothing. Who's Moriarty?"

"I told you, this act? It won't work."

Veronica let out a frustrated sigh. She pushed back from the table and stood. "Look, there's no way you're going to believe me and I'm tired of trying to convince you –"

Sherlock rose with her. "I'm not finished." 

He reached for her as if to stop her. In a panic, she grabbed her mug and held it close to herself and immediately felt like an idiot. A mug was not a Taser. Recovering, she said, "Well, it can wait until I get another coffee. I have a feeling I'll need to a steady stream of caffeine to get through this." Then she sidestepped him and stomped into the café.

As Mr. Chatterjee poured her refill, she contemplated how she was going to convince Sherlock she was telling the truth. But telling the truth about what exactly? He claimed she wasn't giving them the whole story, and yet getting a straight answer out of him was like trying to find the end of a roll of packing tape. 

"A word of warning, young miss," Mr. Chatterjee said as he pushed the full mug of coffee towards her. "I see you are talking to Sherlock Holmes. He is the most infuriating man alive. Do your best to avoid him."

She turned to see Sherlock sitting down again and drumming his fingers on the table. "Wish I could but he's making himself unavoidable at the moment."

"Then do not listen to a word he says. He thinks everyone is merely a puzzle to solve. He stirs up trouble and damn the consequences!"

Veronica nodded. Yes, a puzzle. Of course. She'd been approaching Sherlock all wrong since he sat down. Stop opposing him and figure this out with him. 

She paid Mr. Chatterjee and thanked him, then made her way outside.

She sat and said, "Okay, so let's say you're right --"

"I'm right," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Kudos. I can tell how tough that was for you. So let's walk through what you think is happening here. You think I contacted this Moriarty guy after Jake Kane accused me of theft. Why?"

"I assume a deal. You want to be clear of the charges and find this Logan Echolls. He wants something in return. Most likely the software that was stolen. You retrieve it for him as payment."

"And what the hell has he done for me? I'm still accused and Logan is still missing."

He pointed to himself. "Me."

Veronica barked out a laugh. "Oh, yeah, because you've been a godsend so far."

"He knows I will solve this."

"But he didn't get me in touch with you. Detective Inspector Lestrade did. And Greg was doing my dad a favour."

"Moriarty may have set this up before you arrived. He knew you'd have a connection here."

"That's a stretch, and you know it. And besides, it makes no sense. If he set it up so I'm here to get you to help me, then he would've had to know that Jake's software would be stolen, know that I'd be here, know my history with Jake Kane to get me accused, and then wait for me to contact him. And if that were true, then he'd either be the one who stole Jake's software or know who did it. And if that's the case, why involve me at all? That plot is just too complicated."

"Fine," Sherlock leaned forward. The last time she'd seen him this enthusiastic was when he'd first deduced her. "Let's simplify it then. Perhaps there is indeed a third party who stole the software. Then you got accused, contacted Moriarty, and he worked it out so you'd be in touch with me, I'd solve it, you'd abscond with the software and give it to him, then he'd give you the whereabouts of Logan Echolls."

"Except, I've been trying to solve this without you. Actually solve it. Not running around, trying to get the goods on me. And if this Moriarty person knew my reputation, like you suspect he would've, then he'd know that I don't need your help."

"Then you're a distraction --"

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Veronica interrupted, taking a mocking swipe at his arm.

He glared at her. "To keep me from the real case."

"Which is?"

"Well, there we have it, don't we?" Sherlock leaned back with his hands clasped in front of him. "So what is the real case here, Veronica Mars? You see that it all goes back to the fact that you aren't telling us everything. And don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't answered my question. What do you really want from Jake Kane?"

"And you haven’t answered mine. Who is Moriarty?"

"I asked first."

Veronica gave him a withering look. "Very mature."

Sherlock shrugged. "If I cared how I appeared, I wouldn't get any answers."

She took a sip of her coffee to bolster herself before she began, and grimaced at the taste. Some things were just better at home. She said, "Hate to disappoint you, but John already knows this. I was trying to get information about a member of a group Jake Kane runs. My goal, if I had actually got to break into his apartment, was to find out how the group contacts each other without having to actually ask Jake. If you haven't noticed yet, he's not usually inclined to be helpful to me."

"I wonder why," Sherlock remarked.

She stuck her tongue out at him and she swore she saw the corner of his mouth quirk up momentarily. But as Sherlock continued to look at her expectantly, she realized he thought she should have more to say. She gave him a tilt of her head. "Your turn."

Sherlock briefly narrowed his eyes at her, but then began. "Jim Moriarty is a Consulting Criminal."

"And what the hell is that? Like a hitman?"

"Sometimes. But more to the point, he would procure you a hitman to help you achieve your illicit endeavours."

"I don't get it. Does he work for the mob or something?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Completely independent."

"So he's like a criminal administrator for hire?" she asked skeptically. "Like how you solve mysteries because they're there and you're good at it, he commits crime because there's opportunity and he's good at it?" She'd run into a lot of bad guys in her time but never someone who was evil for the sake of evil. Her bad guys usually suffered from a tragic combination of circumstance and stupidity.

Sherlock nodded. "Indeed. My polar opposite. He's at the heart of dozens that I've been able to trace, and possibly hundreds, of conspiracies, corruptions, felonies – from the minor to the heinous. He doesn't have a pattern to the 'cases' he takes. I suspect for that very reason: so that he doesn't have a pattern."

Veronica pointed at him. "But you've seen one."

"I know when he's involved and this clearly has his signature all over it."

"Okay. But did you ever think that maybe it's not me though? The person who's hired him. I mean, there are other players involved here. I'm just the one that has had the misfortune of getting stuck with you."

Sherlock frowned, putting a finger to his lips, taking a moment to digest her suggestion. She would've thought he was mocking her, but then he asked, "Like?"

"Jake Kane, for one."

Sherlock gave a derisive snort. "What would a software billionaire need with a consulting criminal?"

"Please. Jake Kane might be a cutthroat businessman, but he's practically the Mr. Bean of crime. You've googled him by now. You've read about how he tried to cover up his own daughter's murder."

"Yes, your father's self-published book was a page turner. I especially enjoyed the part where he was thrown out of office for bungling the case."

Veronica thumped her fist down on the table. "A case we _solved_. And if it weren't for Jake Kane's interference, it would've been solved a hell of a lot sooner." Sherlock stared at her fist. Damn it. It just took the mention of that awful time when she'd lost everything to send her into fits of insecurity. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand back and busied herself with her mug again, idly stirring her coffee. If for nothing else than to show Mr. Chatterjee, who was now suspiciously glancing out the shop window at them, that she was still interested in his bland creation.

"Touché," Sherlock said, at last. "Nonetheless, what possible crimes would he need to commit that he couldn't buy his way out of?"

"He has a son and granddaughter on the run from the law. The very son he covered up a murder for. If Duncan reached out to him, I can't imagine a crime he _wouldn't_ commit."

"But why ask _you_ to find the code? Moriarty would surely be able to track it down with his resources."

Veronica shrugged. "Got me. He was just a suggestion." 

After a long pause, Sherlock asked, "Have you got another?" She had to suppress a smirk. He would never admit it, but he was enjoying this. Her arm would have to be twisted to admit it too.

"How about his right-hand man, Clarence Wiedman?" she said.

"The big chap you were with on the smoking terrace? And what's his story?"

"Former military intelligence, did a stint in the FBI. Something happened to make him quit all that and go do grunt work for Jake Kane with unwavering loyalty. Maybe that something has reared its ugly head again."

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me…" Sherlock whispered.

Veronica quirked an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, but Sherlock merely inhaled sharply as though he'd come out of a trance, then asked, "Anyone else?"

"Gory Sorokin. He's the person I want Jake to get a hold of for me."

"And what's he got to do with all this?"

"He's the one who took Logan. I know he did. He threatened him and then they both disappeared at the same time. You don't need to watch a _Law & Order_ marathon to know that adds up. So maybe your buddy Moriarty is helping Sorokin hide Logan."

"I know that name," Sherlock said, "Sorokin."

"It's possible. His family is connected. Like international-mob-connected."

"No. That's not it. And if his family is part of a crime syndicate why would he need Moriarty's help?"

"Maybe they're not helping him this time. Maybe a schoolyard fight isn't something they want to be involved in."

"Maybe," Sherlock conceded. "It's going to bother me. I do know that name. His name specifically: Gory Sorokin. Something I read. Recently. Shut up a moment. It will come to me."

He closed his eyes, put his fingers to his temples and muttered, "Think, think, think…"

With his eyes still screwed shut, his hands started waving about in a furious dance. Veronica looked around them, to make sure no one was watching this bizarre display. She glanced at the café window to catch Mr. Chatterjee shaking his head and pointedly gesturing at him, as if to say to Veronica, "See?"

Finally, Sherlock's head snapped up and his eyes popped open. "Gorya Sorokin. He's missing."

"Yeah. I just said that," Veronica said. All that production just to repeat what she already told him? She added, "Most likely his family is hiding him. Probably in Eastern Europe."

"No. He's missing as in abducted. It's been reported by his family to Interpol. A reward has been offered." Sherlock took the laptop from Veronica, opened it and started typing away.

Veronica paled. "That's…that's impossible." 

"Explain," he demanded, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"I told you, his family is connected. They would _never_ go to the authorities. They'd find the person who took him and there would be major repercussions."

"And yet, here we are." He presented the laptop to her. An article on Gorya 'Gory' Sorokin's disappearance graced the screen.

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" Veronica said as she scrolled through the article. It was exactly as Sherlock said. She could feel her anxiety start to tighten in her throat. How had this news not made it back to Neptune yet? No, this could not be happening. Gory was her only lead.

"Not going according to plan then?" Sherlock asked in amusement.

Veronica glared at his smug expression. "Fuck you."

"As _charming_ as you are, that would be most unhelpful at this point."

She felt her rage boil over at his attempt at a joke. "Then fuck _off_."

"Not until we've got everything clear."

"Let me make _this_ clear," she said and stood. "I don't fucking care if you don't understand what's going on. It doesn't matter now." 

She turned to make her escape before her tears started. There was no goddamn way Sherlock Holmes was ever going to see her break down. But her getaway was thwarted when she ran straight into an elegantly tailored three-piece suit. 

She looked up ready to tell this jackass to watch it, unconcerned if she lived up to the stereotype of the American tourist. But when she met cold disdainful eyes staring down a hawkish nose at her, she closed her mouth. This was no klutz. She took a step back, suddenly unsure of herself. There was something about this stranger that was forbidding and yet familiar. She found him incredibly disconcerting.

"Is this she, Sherlock?" the suit asked indifferently, still staring severely at her.

"Indeed, brother. And she's been most uncooperative."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can provide something that you do not have and Sherlock cannot get you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Timeline/spoilers** : entire series of _Veronica Mars_ , up to _A Scandal in Belgravia_ of _Sherlock_  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Thanks to Audrey Roget for the beta, encouragement, and a willing ear. Thanks to Maybe Amanda for the encouragement and giving me the idea for an actual plot. Thanks to DC for the challenge.

Following Sherlock's instructions, John had come back to the flat after an hour. Sherlock had texted him the plan. He'd only need an hour at most to break Veronica, to find out what her link to Moriarty was. And if that didn't work, he had a secret weapon. 

But all John found when he got back was a Sherlock and Mycroft sitting across from each other in the armchairs, while Veronica sat in the desk chair, facing them both, in a Mexican standoff with glares rather than guns. 

"What have I missed?" John asked as he stepped into the sitting room and took in the situation. "God, Sherlock, please, _please_ tell me your brother wasn't your secret weapon."

In answer, Veronica pulled the other chair from the table out for him to sit down next to her. 

Mycroft broke their silence. "What do you _want_ me to say, Sherlock? Because clearly the facts aren't what you want to hear."

Sherlock shook a file at his brother. "This can't be all you've found!" 

"I've told you, it is all our intelligence has been able to gather _at this time_."

"But I know all this already," Sherlock said, tossing the file on the table. "A simple internet search could tell you this. You're the British Government. Surely you can do better than Google!"

"I dunno," Veronica said. "NSA was pretty thorough. I doubt Google could've found out about me downloading the first season of _Game of Thrones_. You know, you guys would _love_ the sibling dynamics in that."

The brothers turned and narrowed their eyes at her briefly before turning their attentions back to each another.

"I can't make up what's not there, Sherlock. This is what the Americans have given me regarding Veronica Mars. I'm sorry she hasn't been involved in as many scandals and criminal activities as your last Femme Fatale."

John nudged Veronica. "Oh, you'll like that story! Sherlock was nearly outsmarted by a dominatrix!" Veronica gave a snort of amusement.

"Shut up!" Sherlock shouted.

"Official Secrets Act, John," Mycroft reminded him.

"Right. Sorry." John shrugged, then whispered to Veronica, "Tell you later." She gave him a small smile, but it was enough to make her eyes sparkle, John thought.

Sherlock continued to rant. "There's nothing here that links her to Moriarty! It can't be all coincidence! It's just too…too…"

"Coincidental?" Veronica supplied.

"Contrived?" John attempted.

" _X-files_. Nice one, Mulder," Veronica said, grinning at him in admiration.

John tipped an imaginary hat to her.

"What are they talking about?" Sherlock asked the room.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Pop culture reference, Sherlock. And an American one at that." If that was meant to admonish John, he didn't care. He was still revelling in the fact that Mycroft had nothing on Veronica, and so she had to be one of the good guys, and he could go back to winning her over. But not really, of course.

Sherlock made a disgusted noise. "They've been like that since they met. Ignore them."

"Gladly."

That seemed to get Veronica's ire up. She cocked her head at Sherlock. "Ignore me all you want, _Scully_. But you're going to have to accept the evidence in front of your face eventually. And I'm not going to wait nine seasons and two movies for that. So if you'll excuse me --" Veronica stood.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mycroft asked in that scolding tone that John knew Sherlock hated. He didn't think Veronica would care for it much either.

Veronica said, "To actually _do_ something other than act out your family drama –" she pointed at Mycroft. "And indulge your conspiracy theories –" she pointed at Sherlock. "This isn't getting my friend found."

"Don't assume, Ms. Mars. As my little brother mentioned, I occupy a minor office in the British Government. And I can provide something that you do not have and Sherlock cannot get you."

She was nonplussed, but asked, "And what's that?"

"Yes, Mycroft, do tell," Sherlock said, eyes narrowed. John could see the sibling rivalry welling up again but he could also see the similarities. Sherlock loved to show off and hated being shown up. Mycroft was no better.

"Access."

"To what?"

"Gorya Sorokin's last known location," Mycroft said as he pulled another file from his briefcase and held it out in front of him. "A Sorokin syndicate safe house. It was called into Scotland Yard who got to the scene first. They handed it over to Serious Crimes, who is currently investigating. And both MI5 and MI6 are champing at the bit."

Veronica swiped the file from Mycroft before Sherlock could. She sat down on the sofa. John quickly took a place beside her. Sherlock squirmed his way into the narrow strip of cushion on the other side of her, shoving her and John over on the sofa, earning him a glare from both of them. 

They perused the papers over Veronica's shoulder. Most of it had been redacted. 

Simultaneously, Veronica and Sherlock said, "When can I see it?"

\----------

It took one phone call from Mycroft. John was surprised he was still surprised at Mycroft's security level. More surprising was the fact that Sherlock didn't take advantage of it more often, even surreptitiously.

In a matter of minutes, they were in a cab and on their way to Kensington. They would only have a half hour once they got there. That's all the time Mycroft could get them before MI6 would take over. Still, he could keep Security and Secret Services at bay for a spell. If Fleming were writing now, M would stand for Mycroft. John wondered if he would get the joke if he started calling him 'Control'.

Veronica sat across from John and Sherlock. She was uncharacteristically quiet and continued to read the file on the way. Not that there was much to read – a brief report, a floor plan, and a couple of photos by Scotland Yard who was first on scene.

"Well?" Sherlock said.

John tore his gaze off Veronica to see if it was him that Sherlock was talking to. Indeed it was. "Well, what?"

"What do we know so far?"

Oh Christ. Now? In front of Veronica, no less. Typical. Well, there was nothing for it. Sherlock would nag at him until he gave in, might as well get the humiliation over with right away. Like peeling off a plaster.

"We're going to a flat in Kensington. Didn't think you'd put a mob safe house in a posh neighbourhood like that."

Sherlock waved his hand. "Russians have been buying up property all over London since the housing crash. Paying one's way into society is nothing new."

John continued. "Looked like it had been ransacked. Unless the Sorokins kept their safe house particularly messy. I mean, you probably wouldn't hire a cleaning service if you were trying to keep your location secret. 'Course, if three levels of police are investigating there's a strong indicator that something more happened there than just a bit of clutter."

"Yes, but the blood would be a better indicator," Sherlock said curtly.

That earned Sherlock a sharp look from Veronica. Sherlock frowned in confusion as if he wanted an explanation for her rebuke. But Veronica shook her head and went back to the file. She'd been staring at one photo in particular for a while now. Was she memorizing it or trying to glean something the average person wouldn't notice? Or was it merely a way to deal with the shock of seeing something violent? After all, a clever detective she might be, but she wasn't Sherlock. She had emotions. And that look she gave Sherlock told John that she had a greater connection to this situation than she'd been letting on.

John glanced back at Sherlock and was surprised to see that he was still watching Veronica. Oh, that wouldn't do. There was no bloody way he was _ever_ going to have a conversation with Sherlock Holmes about horning in on a girl your mate was interested in. Not that he was.

"What blood?" John asked, hoping to pull Sherlock's attention away from her. The chance to show off would be too hard for him to resist. "There's nothing about blood in the report or in the photos, at least not in the parts that we can still read."

To John's relief, it worked. Sherlock asked, "Who signed off on the report?"

John shrugged. "No clue."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, if you had paid attention, you'd know that she is a Scotland Yard crime scene investigator that specialises in _human_ forensics. That means blood or tissue was found."

"And you just happen to know the directory of crime scene investigators?"

"Obviously."

John turned to Veronica and jerked his thumb at Sherlock. "This he knows, but not who the sitting prime minister is."

"Unless he commits a crime or is a victim of a crime, it is trivia, and not important to my work. There are, however, several practical reasons for knowing the names of SOCOs. One of which I just demonstrated."

"Bravo," Veronica muttered. She seemed to be getting more dejected as they neared their destination. She closed the file and stared out the window, watching London as it passed by them. He'd forgotten that this was her first time in London and that she'd seen so little of it. The flat, Kane Software, Scotland Yard, and a quick jaunt through Westminster was hardly enough to say you've seen London. And she'd been here days now. 

John vowed to make it up to her.

\----------

The rest of the ride was quiet. When the cab finally came to a stop, they were in front of a row of terraced houses. The passenger door was opened from the outside and John turned to see Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, predictably staring at her mobile.

"You're to follow me." She turned and walked into the building without watching if they were behind her. 

They trundled up the stairs after her. She was waiting by an open door at the top of the stairs. She held out latex gloves to them as they neared. "Put these on first."

They each took a pair of gloves. Powder puffed out from their wrists into the air as they snapped them on. Anthea looked up briefly to note that they'd all done as she said.

She looked back down at her screen, but said, "You can go through now. Even though you've got gloves on, you're only here to look. You're not to take anything. I'm to watch you so you don't."

And a bloody fine job she was doing so far, John thought. They stood staring at her for more instructions. When no one moved, she finally looked up again and seeing that they were still there, gave them an exasperated, 'well, go on' shooing motion.

As they entered the flat, John whispered to Sherlock, "There must be some compelling reason Mycroft keeps her around. It can't be the conversation."

"Her grandfather's in the House of Lords."

Ah. John wondered if the arrangement was Mycroft giving or returning a favour. Most likely the former. He couldn't imagine Mycroft being sloppy enough to get in a situation where he'd be beholden to anyone. Then again, he did manage nearly to bring the country to its knees because he was too lazy to deal with Irene Adler himself.

Veronica had gone off ahead of them. Anthea stood in the entryway and called after her, "Nothing was found in those rooms." Veronica ignored her, which was easy to do since Anthea didn't look up to see if Veronica was listening.

Sherlock ignored all of them and went into the main sitting room where most of the evidence was found, leaving John to decide whom he'd rather follow. He could tell well enough when a woman wanted to be alone and Sherlock would be a right dick if he didn't get a chance to flaunt his intellect.

The flat had an open concept, the small kitchen only separated from the sitting room by a breakfast bar, which seemed to function as the entire flat's eating area. Large windows in the living room opened out onto a balcony. The furniture was all black leather and chrome – modern and masculine. A large LCD telly took up one wall. Behind the sofa was a set of weights and exercise equipment. The bedrooms and bathroom were down a narrow hallway off the sitting room.

The first thing John noticed was the smell of the flat. Stale. Like when you'd come back from being away and not tidied up before you left. Take-away containers, and used napkins and tissues littered the coffee table and kitchen counter. It made him glad he was wearing gloves.

John came to stand in the centre of the room beside Sherlock, who asked, "What do you see?" 

John rolled his eyes. "A posh flat that's been done over. Do we really have time for this, Sherlock? We're on a clock here. Just assume I'm going to miss everything important and get on with it."

Sherlock frowned, affronted, but then tilted his head with a squint like he was weighing his options. Then he nodded, decision made. "Right then. Flat's been reno'ed within the last few years. According to the records, the entire building was bought by a holding company of the Sorokin's syndicate two years ago. None of the other flats have been let. Single occupant in this flat for the last two weeks, likely male judging from the furnishings and the state of the place. Ate in front of the telly, only one setting. One sofa cushion is bowed out more than all the others. Creature of habit." 

Sherlock paused, then turned his head to and fro in search of something. John asked, "What're you looking for?"

"Where was the blood found?" Sherlock asked loudly, trying to get Anthea's attention.

Anthea looked up in surprise, but pointed to the small kitchen. "There." 

Sherlock pulled his magnifying glass from his pocket and snapped it open. He began scanning the surfaces. "One or more?"

Anthea frowned and looked at John who shrugged. She asked, "Of what?"

"Blood types. Did it all come from one person or were there multiple sources?"

"I can't -– I'm not -- " Anthea stuttered in confusion. "I don't know how much I'm supposed to tell you!" She turned away and began typing furiously on her phone again.

Sherlock walked over to her and put a hand over the screen of her phone to stop her. "We have less than a half hour. You can waste our time asking my brother what to tell me and waiting for him to reply or you can just tell me. If Mycroft didn't want me to know that, he wouldn't have allowed me access to the crime scene."

"But the Inspector said –-"

"Tick tock," John said.

Resigned, Anthea sighed. "Only one found and only in the kitchen."

With that, Sherlock went into rapid-fire deduction mode. "So, assailant was let in since there's no forced entry. The struggle started in the sitting room and ended up in the kitchen where a weapon was finally used. Maybe even a hard surface like the countertop. Victim was subdued here, which is why the mess is confined to these two rooms. Since the rest of the building is unoccupied, they had time to dispose of the victim whether dead or alive – the amount of blood will tell us the probabilities of that. Presumably the reno included soundproofing or neighbours from other buildings would have heard the struggle and called the authorities sooner. Victim was likely carried out since there's no drag or scuff marks on the floor or walls."

John blinked. No matter how many times he'd seen or heard Sherlock do his deductions, he never failed to be amazed. But now Sherlock dropped silent, as he rummaged through drawers and cupboards.

John watched a little longer and he started to feel useless. "You seem to have things under control here. I'm just going to see how Veronica's getting on."

Sherlock gave him a dismissive shrug without looking up. Anthea didn't even bother with that.

Veronica had been gone a while now. More disconcerting was how quiet she'd been. John had heard nothing from the other side of the flat since they'd gone in. He made his way towards the bedrooms. He found her in what was presumably the second bedroom. The only pieces of furniture were a small bed and a side table. Veronica, however, was staring at the radiator, which was under a fashionable radiator cover.

John cleared his throat. "Anthea – Mycroft's assistant – she says they didn't find anything in here. So what are you doing?"

"I heard her. But just because they didn't find anything doesn't mean something or someone wasn't here. I want to see if there's anything in this." She gave the cover a kick. "How do I open it without breaking it?"

"It's just the radiator." John squatted down to get a look at it. "It's custom-made. With most of these bespoke covers, the front panel should open." He pulled at the grill and it unlatched and dropped down. "Voila"

"You're a god." She may have been exaggerating, but John had to admit he at least felt useful. She crouched down and started searching throughout the cover. 

"What makes you think someone was in here?"

"This room is too clean."

"Well, if it wasn't used, then it would be, wouldn't it?"

Veronica straightened up. "No, I mean _just_ cleaned. The other rooms look lived in or they're a mess. This room is more than immaculate; it's sterile. There's no dust. And everything is fresh or new. Smell the sheets, the carpet. Whoever took Gory cleaned the hell out of this room, but none of the other rooms. Why would they do that?"

"To cover up having someone in here." Jesus. She was good. "What makes you think something's in the radiator cover?"

"At home, some of us would hide things from our parents in air vents. This seems to be the closest thing to a vent in here. Besides, if you were being held in this room, where would you hide something? I just -- I need to make sure." Veronica crouched back down. "I think there's something back here. It might be caught."

"What are they doing in there?" Anthea called out. John heard footsteps. It wasn't Sherlock's gait. Of course, John thought, _now_ she decides to do her job.

"Anthea's coming," John said.

"Distract her." 

John started to protest. If they found anything, surely they'd have to tell the authorities, wouldn't they?

Veronica looked up at him. "Please." There was a break in her voice that caught in his chest and John lost all the argument in him. Maybe Sherlock was right about him having a damsel in distress complex.

He rose and met Anthea in the hallway before she got to the door of the bedroom, nearly running into her. "There you are!" he declared. 

"Sorry?" she said, stepping back.

"Yes, I wanted to ask you –" Well, now here was a quandary. Quickly, think of something that will keep her attention. "If you're free tonight?"

"Excuse me?" Anthea asked incredulously. From behind Anthea, he could see Sherlock momentarily pop his head into the hallway and narrow his eyes at him. John heard something drop in the bedroom and hoped it was surprise and maybe a bit of jealousy making Veronica clumsy. 

At the noise, Anthea tried to move around him, but he stepped in front of her again. John forced out a laugh. "Oh, not with me! Blimey, no! I mean, we've _just_ met." She missed his sarcasm, but looked relieved, so he leaned in conspiratorially and quietly said, "Actually I'm asking for my friend over there."

Anthea frowned. "You mean Mr. Holmes's brother? Sherlock Holmes? Seriously?"

Again, Sherlock's head popped out, this time lower to the ground. Eyes wide.

"Yeah. I mean, surely you've seen the way he looks at you and how much he shows off whenever you're about?"

Anthea paused, thinking about it. "He's not – you know –?"

"Psychotic?" John offered.

"No…um…gay?"

John resisted the urge to fall into a rant about assumptions. "Would I be asking if he were?"

"But…he's so tetchy."

John waved his hand. "Bluster. He only does that with the girls he's most interested in. You know, playing hard to get."

Anthea blushed. "Well, um – I think – it's not that I don't think he's brilliant and gorgeous – it's just, you know – Mr. Holmes wouldn't approve."

"John!" Sherlock was stalking over to them now. Anthea turned and actually batted her eyelashes at him. Sherlock's expression was a cross between alarm and revulsion. "John," he repeated. "What is going on here?"

John tried to give Sherlock meaningful looks behind Anthea's back, but he said, "Sorry, Sherlock. I tried. She doesn't think Mycroft would be happy about it."

"About _what_?" Sherlock demanded.

John jerked his head towards the bedroom and mouthed 'found something'. He was relieved when comprehension dawned in Sherlock's expression. John then said, "A date. With Anthea."

Sherlock made a sour face, but quickly recovered before Anthea could see. Anthea smiled shyly. "It's not my real name."

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said, giving her a phony grin. His eyes were back on John and his expression serious again. "John, collect Veronica. We should be on our way before Secret Service arrives."

John nodded and turned back towards the spare room. He could hear Anthea trying her best to make it up to Sherlock, taking his reaction for rejection rather than disinterest.

"Maybe we could just go out for drinks sometime. You know, as mates."

"I'm really an all-or-nothing type of person. With a stress on nothing."

John lost the thread of their conversation once he entered the bedroom. Veronica was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at something he couldn't make out that was dangling from her hand. He went over to the radiator and replaced the cover.

He turned and stood in front of Veronica and could see she was holding a necklace or a bracelet made of shells. The kind people came back with after holidaying in Hawaii. "What's that you found?" he asked gently, trying to get her attention.

Her head snapped up towards him as though he'd startled her. Her eyes were glossy and she turned away so that he couldn't see them any more. She shoved the jewellery into her jeans pocket, stood, and said, "I gotta get outta here."

It took him a beat to realize that she was fleeing the room, and he went after her. She pushed past Anthea and Sherlock, who watched in confusion as she exited the flat.

Anthea looked to John for an explanation. He shook his head. "Americans," he said with a shrug. As John had hoped, Anthea seemed to buy it. John stripped off his gloves, tossed them to Anthea and then ran after Veronica. Sherlock must have followed suit because practically at John's heel all the way down the stairs. It's not like he expected Sherlock to make a graceful farewell to Anthea.

They made it out onto the street and looked up and down the roadway. There was no sign of Veronica. Sherlock merely pointed in one direction and took off in a jog in the opposite direction. The street was thankfully empty and quiet. John ran for a full minute, alert to any sightings and sounds, popping his head down alleys. He decided he'd gone far enough that he would have caught up to Veronica by now, given how upset she was, so he doubled back and began to look for Sherlock.

He was almost at the end terrace when he heard a sob. He rounded the corner into a fenced-off garden and found Veronica, her hands covering her face and Sherlock's hand on her shoulder, as if steadying her. Then she turned and leaned into his chest. A look of utter shock passed over Sherlock's face. John was sure it must have mirrored his own. After a moment, his arms came up awkwardly and held her there as she cried.

No. This would not do at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just like Logan to be kidnapped not once but twice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Timeline/spoilers** : entire series of Veronica Mars, up to A Scandal in Belgravia of Sherlock  
>  **Disclaimer** : I know the law, and the law would win.  
>  **Acknowledgements** : Thanks to Audrey Roget for the beta, encouragement, and a willing ear. Thanks to Maybe Amanda for the encouragement and giving me the idea for an actual plot. Thanks to DC for the challenge.

The new room where Logan was being held didn't have a window, but he had to admit, it was better than being handcuffed to a radiator. Of course, he had a limited view from his position on the floor, so the window had been a moot point. But with the window at least he'd been able to tell whether it was daytime or not. An alarm clock let him keep time now, but he couldn't be sure it was the right time. Logan tried to keep a routine around it anyway.

The other bonus to the new captors was that he wasn't getting random beatings anymore, in fact, none at all. That miserable shit, Gory Sorokin, did not have a sense of humour. And Logan never had learned when he should keep his mouth shut. Gory, like Aaron, didn't appreciate Logan's opinion on getting beaten. And neither of them seemed to appreciate Logan's endurance either.

But the new anonymous captors were already his best friends. He had a bed, a desk and chair, and a small bathroom. There were books and magazines. He was getting fed and watered regularly, too. So whoever this new faction was, they at least wanted him alive. For now, anyway. 

It was just like Logan to be kidnapped not once but twice. He could imagine the lecture from Veronica about how he always had to do things to the extreme. When he played out the yelling match in his head, he knew his juvenile response would be that it wasn’t his fault, just his shitty luck. And she'd volley back just as petulantly that he had a knack for making his luck infinitely shittier. But he didn't dare imagine past that because they hadn't had the opportunity to get to that place in their relationship where it might go beyond an argument to making up the way he'd like.

He couldn’t tell exactly what had happened either day he was taken. The first time, he was jumped in a parking lot and kept drugged until he finally woke up in the room where Gory held him. From what Gory would let slip from phone calls or while he was drunk or high, Gory's family connections wanted nothing to do with the mess he'd created by trying to get revenge on Logan, and he was on his own. 

The day he was taken from Gory, Gory had put a bag over his head, saying he'd found someone to take Logan off his hands and he was going on a trip. The doorbell had buzzed, there was a conversation, an altercation, then quiet as whoever it was began to search the apartment. It didn’t take long to find him. Then he was knocked out and woke up in his current surroundings, cleaned up and injuries bandaged. 

Gloved hands pushed a tray of food through a slot in the door of his room at meal times. He couldn't be sure if it was the same set of hands every day. Whoever brought him his food refused to speak to him no matter what he asked. On his second day, he tried to grab the gloved hands that pushed his tray of food through the slot on the door, begging for the person on the other side to help him or just talk to him.

For a full day after, despite his yells and protests, the only thing pushed through the slot was a glass of water, until he promised sincerely that he wouldn't try anything again. Now every time the slot opened, he just mused to the hands about what store you'd have to go to get a door like that. Kidnappers Depot? Captors Warehouse? How many pairs of gloves must they have? Did they use the same pair over and over?

Regardless of the lack of conversation, he was pretty sure he wasn't in America. Gory had liked the TV on at all hours and liked it loud. So he was somewhere that could get the BBC. It would be easy to give up knowing that. Because who the hell was going to come looking for him outside of the U.S.? 

But then, anyone asking that question didn't know Veronica Mars.

\----------

John turned on the telly then turned up the volume to a near-deafening level.

Sherlock walked up and pressed the power button, shutting it off. "You’re angry with me. Again."

John tossed the remote on the sofa beside him. "Nope. Not angry with you. Can’t possibly be angry with you. It’s never your fault, after all."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked as he flopped into his chair.

"Well, you don’t know you're doing it, do you? You can never help just saying or doing the things you do."

"You are the one that tries to make me interact with _people_. And you are surprised when they don’t understand me?"

"No, I am never surprised when you make a bloody mess of things with other actual human beings. I fully expect it every time now. But this time -- this one time when you should’ve been you, when you should've bollocksed it all up, and instead you go and be the perfect–"

"You." Sherlock finished for John. He pressed his fingers together under his nose. "So that’s what’s bothering you."

John gave an exasperated sigh. "What did you think was bothering me?"

Sherlock threw his hands up. "That we didn’t make her tell us what she found in that room, of course! That we aren't making her have her conversation with her hacker source in front of us."

John tried to blink the incredulity from his eyes. "After what happened back at the Sorokin flat, after she completely broke down, you want to put her through more interrogation? You still think she has something to do with this?"

"Whether she does or not, she holds all the cards and has all the information."

"I don't believe this," John said, shaking his head. "No one can fake that kind of outburst! Certainly not over jewellery. Not unless it was given on bended knee."

"Oh no. I believe she's as influenced by sentiment as the rest of you lot. I'm just saying she knows how to use it effectively when she needs to. Hence us letting her go off on her own again."

John cocked his head at Sherlock, as though he was finally hearing what he was saying. He sat back, steepled his fingers, pressing them under his nose to mimic Sherlock, and said, "I see."

Sherlock sat forward and narrowed his eyes at John, signalling that he was deducing everything he could until he hit on what John was getting at. John wondered what his room looked like in Sherlock's mind palace. 

Finally, Sherlock looked away with a frown, and said, "Oh, shut up."

"Must be true then if I struck a nerve."

Sherlock fastidiously pulled at his jacket cuffs, avoiding John's gaze. "You mistake disappointment for annoyance. You think very little of me."

" _Au contraire_. I think you're more disappointed in yourself than anybody right now. And the reason you're working so damn hard to prove that she's another Irene Adler is so you can excuse yourself for your admiration. _Oh, she's tricked me into liking her. It's not my fault. Wah wah._ You gonna play sad songs when she leaves, too?"

Sherlock stood suddenly and began to pace. "Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now? How childish? You don't even know the truth about who she's looking for. You haven't even asked her because you know you don't want to hear it."

"I've made assumptions and her outburst has pretty much confirmed it. You clearly have known for a while, and yet you're still acting this way. Which of us is really more ridiculous? I'd say we're practically even."

Sherlock walked over to the telly and stabbed the power button, filling the room again with noise and harsh light, then stalked off to his bedroom.

It was a hollow win.

\----------

Mac's face finally appeared on the borrowed laptop screen. "Mars ATTACKS!" Mac announced with a screech.

"BIG MAC!" Veronica replied with as much ferocity.

This was what she needed. Riffing with someone from home. The ache of homesickness dissipated as she eased into her comfort zone.

She was back in her closet in Mrs. Hudson's apartment. She needed the privacy after her emotional display at the Sorokin safehouse and she didn’t want any interruptions or eavesdropping on her face time with Mac. Mac would be wary of new faces and she needed Mac to be as relaxed as possible.

"How's Jolly Ol'?" So Mac was going to skirt around the issue. That was fine. Veronica could skirt too.

"Old. Not so jolly. How's the internship?"

Mac gave a snort. "Sooo boring. They have me debugging junior programmers' code. Something I can do in my sleep. But if I do all the tasks too quickly, then there's nothing left for me to do until they get the next batch of code written. So I have to find ways to do this stuff slowly enough."

"It is a curse to be gifted."

"Tell me about it."

"What if I give you a tasty project in between assignments?" Veronica asked, looking at her hopefully.

Mac winced. "I dunno Veronica. They like bums in seats here. Even though I've got bupkis to do, they want me here doing it. They time me for my lunch. I've got forty-five minutes. That's enough time to forage for food, eat it, perform ablutions, and then think about my life choices for the extra two minutes."

"Not a problem. My project is Kane Software based."

"Veronica," Mac said with a frustrated sigh, "I _need_ this internship. And yes, they've made me very aware that they know I'm your friend. You wouldn't believe the grilling security gave me when I started. I have to play by their rules."

Veronica was done with skirting. "C'mon Mac, you know why I'm here in England. It's for Logan. Remember him? Even if you don't admit he's your friend, he's at least your shady business partner now. Aren’t you the slightest bit worried about him?"

"Hey, there’s nothing shady about exploiting people’s debauchery. If people want to give us money to humiliate themselves, who am I to say no? And what are you not admitting to? He's not your boyfriend but you drop everything the second he goes missing. You find the tiniest circumstantial shreds to corroborate your theory that he's been kidnapped –"

Veronica interrupted her. "You can't tell me that Gory leaving and Logan disappearing at the same time is a coincidence."

"It's summer break! Except for us townies, _everybody_ leaves for the summer. He's probably on a bender in Vegas like the papers say. But no, you go on a vendetta against the craziest mobster wannabe you can find and skip the country. All to search for a guy you've broken up with -- for good, I might add -- three times. You don't tell your dad you're going, and you dump Piz in the process."

"That's so not true! I ended things with Piz before I left for England –"

"A technicality! And an e-mail break-up? Do you know how much he's been bugging me about you since? And now I find out that you're staying with these 'consulting detectives'? Do you know how that looks?"

Veronica sat up straight. "Wait. What? How did you know that?"

"Google is amazing. What I would've done for an internship there. I put an alert for your name because your dad has been bugging me too for any info on you and what you're doing because he has this misguided notion that you tell me everything. And you popped up a couple of days ago on this guy, John Watson's blog."

"Are you serious?"

The link appeared in the chat window and Veronica opened it. She skimmed the latest entries and felt herself blushing.

"I'd say he's smitten," Mac said, noticing Veronica's discomfort.

"Shut up."

"Why are you still there, Veronica?"

"Because I have evidence now. And because I made a deal with Jake Kane. That's why I need your help."

Mac blinked and gave a quick shake of her head. "Have you picked up a bunch of Britishisms that haven't made it into _Doctor Who_ yet? Because you should add a couple of blimeys and bloodys in there so I know when you're not going to make any sense."

Veronica had to admit, it didn't sound good when she said it out loud. "Jake's here in England and he had Scotland Yard come after me because he thought I stole something of his. I made him a deal I'd find it and whoever was responsible and he'd drop the charges and get me info on where I could find Gory. But now Gory's missing too."

"And the consulting detectives?"

"The police let me go if I promised to work with them."

Mac's eyes widened. "That's just so babytown frolics."

"Whatever. They're actually pretty good detectives. And it lets me investigate."

"High praise from Veronica Mars. They're easy on the eyes too, judging by the photos I've found. Heh. Nice hat." A series of links appeared in the chat.

Veronica ignored them. "Getting back to the point –"

"Yeah. You said evidence?"

Veronica held up her hand, dangling a shell necklace.

"You can't say for sure that it's Logan's."

"I haven't had the time to swab it for his DNA, no. But I stared at this thing for two long hot summers during make-out sessions. There's a chip in this shell and one of the dark shells is missing here. Not to mention that I found it in Gory Sorokin's family safehouse in London. That's a huge fucking coincidence, Mac. God! You're getting worse than Wallace."

Mac shrugged. "Someone's gotta pick up the "BFF-call-you-on-your-shit" slack while he's away. I will make you a deal. Promise you'll call your dad. Then tell me what you need. And I'll _think_ about it."

Veronica tried to suppress her smirk. Just getting Mac to 'think about it' meant she was three-quarters of the way to convincing her. She made an X over her chest with her finger. "I promise." Then she leaned in and asked quietly, "Our chat's secure, right?"

Mac rolled her eyes. "As soon as I saw your chat request, I went into triple lockdown mode. Fort Knox has nothing on me."

"That's my Mac. Okay, I’m sending you the IP address of the most secure Kane Software server, and a date and time. The hacker who went into took everything, burned the drives, and then covered up his tracks so well, no one can figure out where he originated from. And the kicker is that he used Jake Kane's credentials to get in once he got past all the best of Kane Software's security protocols."

Veronica hadn't even finished typing before Mac said, "I know who it was."

Veronica chuckled, but continued typing. "I know you're good, Mac, but I haven't even sent you the -"

"And it wasn't a he."

It took Veronica a beat to realize what Mac was saying. She looked up at the screen to see if Mac was serious. "Mac, no –"

"Mac, yes." Mac squirmed visibly. "Do you want an explanation?"

"I don’t know. Do you want to give me one?"

Mac put a hand up making a placating motion. "I want you to understand that I didn’t have a choice."

Veronica shook her head in disbelief. "Choice?! Now who's making no sense? Do you know how much trouble you’re in?"

"He said no one would ever find out!"

"He?"

"Clarence Wiedman."


End file.
